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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494854">When Darkness Strikes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/he_wants_to_write/pseuds/he_wants_to_write'>he_wants_to_write</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Larry Stylinson Fics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1990s, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Crime Scenes, Detective Liam Payne, Detective Louis Tomlinson, Detective Zayn Malik, Enemies to Lovers, Forensics, Gore, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, Investigator Harry Styles, Light Smut, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Pining, Police, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Suspense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:56:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494854</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/he_wants_to_write/pseuds/he_wants_to_write</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Private Investigator Harry Styles is called to help solve a brutal homicide case in a small town by the North of England. There, he stumbles upon Detective Louis Tomlinson, and although their personalities crash and dark mysteries haunt their circumstances, the pair does have one thing in common; the will to catch the responsible behind the murder. </p><p>Or, the suspenseful, thrilling Enemies to Lovers that evolves more than just romance and slow burn.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Larry Stylinson Fics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Beyond the Point of No Return</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Before you proceed with this work, please be aware of a few subjects present in this story; graphic descriptions of violence, injuries, corpses, murderous actions and physical trauma.</p><p>If you believe anything listed will trigger or discomfort you to the extreme, please, click away from this link. I may have other works more suitable for your liking in my page. Thank you for your comprehension and if you chose to continue, thank you for the read.</p><p>Also, all of the chapter's titles are lyrics from songs by Radiohead.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her hair is immaculate, almost white against the dark leaves that carpet the ground. Harry can't draw his gaze away from the girl's head, where her expression can nearly be mistaken for a relaxed state. She looks like she's in a deep, peaceful sleep.</p>
<p>However, Harry knows it's not the case. He grips tightly onto his notebook and brings it up to his chest to comfort himself at the sight of the lifeless figure.</p>
<p>From the neck down, the girl's body is the opposite of her face. Slashes, cuts, and bruises cover the extent of her exposed, pale skin, lacking circulation. Dry blood paint her limbs, pools forming down below where she lays, staining the soil with impiety.</p>
<p>She's half-naked, and the brutal cold of winter has turned her fingertips to blue and purple. Her frail hands grip around nothing, her palms and forearms exhibiting cuts from defensive wounds, and he cringes at the picture that plays in his own mind, a moment of her fighting for her life.</p>
<p>In her neck, a distinctive bruise wraps around her throat, signs of strangulation, as if the sharp tools used to cut her body weren't enough for the killer. Above the suffocation marks, there's nothing visually distressing, almost distracting away the fact that she is no longer breathing.</p>
<p>It paints a picture of the murderer; someone that choose to not break the pureness of her face, to not disrupt the softness of her features, despite the violence committed to the rest of her.</p>
<p>Harry has never seen such scene, not even in photographs. His stomach turns itself out at every inch of skin he looks at, at every sight of physical trauma. He can't put himself to think of what the girl saw and went through at the last moments of her life. He can't imagine the pain, the fear, the screams that the forest swallowed like a black hole, to never be heard again.</p>
<p>The investigator shivers as a gush of gelid wind blows by. Leaves shift on the humid earth, some falling over her body, as if nature is desperately trying to erase the horrific occurrence.</p>
<p>Harry's eyes water, and he finally manages to look away. He turns to gaze at the trees instead and focuses on other sounds around him; the police officers talking amongst themselves, the crime scene tape being unwrapped, the clicks of the analog cameras capturing the scene.</p>
<p>His chest is drowning in dread, but he has a job to do. He tries to keep that in mind as he paces towards a police car, where a man stands talking on the radio, reporting the occurrences. The word "Sheriff" stamps his vest.</p>
<p>When the man notices Harry's awaiting presence, he turns on his heel. "Can I help you, sir?" He asks.</p>
<p>Harry breathes in the air and plans his words. "Hi, I'm private investigator Harry Styles," He says, offering his hand out, which the sheriff politely shakes in return. "I was hoping to talk to you."</p>
<p>"Styles," The sheriff repeats, his voice resonating on the ruffling of leaves and trees. "Yeah, I was told you'd come. The County's Department sent you, right?"</p>
<p>"Correct." Harry confirms.</p>
<p>"I'm the head of the local station, Sheriff Lucas, but most people call me Stan." The authority informs, grinning slightly at the end of his sentence.</p>
<p>It's something that Harry will never get used to. The awkward attempts of making casual conversation when there's such a gruesome sight so close by. It's a part of his work, to ask questions and get the information required, sometimes with dry blood underneath his shoes as consequence.</p>
<p>"It's nice to meet you, Sheriff." Harry coughs, focusing on his intentions. "So, I read some of the crucial data about the case on my way here, but I'd like to hear from a closer perspective."</p>
<p>Realizing his cue, the Sheriff – Stan – sighs and tucks his thumbs underneath his vest. "The girl is Claire Denholm, she's eighteen years-old, lived in a neighborhood a few miles away." He informs, and Harry recalls reading the information before. The sheriff continues; "She was reported missing by her parents. They say that she ran away the on Saturday night after they had a fight."</p>
<p>"Was it a violent fight? Do you know?" Harry questions, trying to find motives, although the girl's parents were, most likely, not suspects.</p>
<p>The sheriff shakes his head. "No, supposedly it was a simple altercation. Teenagers can be tough to deal with, sometimes. They said she just took her car and left. It wasn't the first time she would have ran off, so they only reported her missing on Sunday night when she failed to come back home."</p>
<p>"So, last night." Harry mumbles to himself. It's Monday morning, which means: "She was gone for almost a day, before her death, I suppose."</p>
<p>"Positive." Stan agrees.</p>
<p>Harry licks his lips, thinking. "Is there any information of where she was, where she went to, during the time she was gone?"</p>
<p>The sheriff looks down for a brief second, but it seems like nothing of importance comes to his mind. "No, at least not until now, we don't have that information." He responds. "Honestly, detective, you got here as early as we did. We know just about the same, for now."</p>
<p>"I guess you're right." Harry nods to himself. "Thank you for your time, sheriff. Would you mind if I pass by your station later today, after the Forensics team finishes the report?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely, we want as much help as we can get." Stan grins sympathetically, and Harry excuses himself.</p>
<p>The trees behind the police car rattle and wave at the cold breeze, and Harry thinks about how the girl – Claire – was alive just a day before that moment. He shivers, maybe from the cold, maybe from dread, and decides that there's nothing in that scene that his mind will ever manage to shake away completely.</p>
<p>He glances at the beige car parked on the side of the road. It's Claire's car, and as he approaches, cutting a path between police officers and crime-scene photographers, he notices that the driver's door was left open. From what he can see from the closed windows, her car is messy, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. A coat is thrown on the backseat, a half-empty water bottle in the cup holder. The key is missing, and he assumes it must be somewhere between her torn clothes.</p>
<p>Harry tries to imagine a scene in his head; her last moments, her intentions in that place. He thinks that, possibly, she saw something or someone, in the woods or in the road, pulled over and got attacked. She's laying around a hundred feet from the car, Harry can see it, the white, pale corpse in the distance, between the greeneries of the woods.</p>
<p>He swallows a bitter, hidden mystery down his throat, a lump that won't go away, and heads towards his own car, leaving the scene and driving to the local hotel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a restless afternoon and an uneasy stomach in a lonely hotel room, Harry drives to the station at the end of the evening.</p>
<p>The streets are covered in a grey mist that only adds to Harry's dreadful sensations. It almost seems to be a too-perfect scenario for such a brutal murder to happen; a small town surrounded by dense woods and low altitudes that hold the plain terrain of the city. He thinks it could be a cozy place, quiet and comfortable, if not given the circumstances.</p>
<p>He arrives at the station and doesn't hesitate to call out for the sheriff at the reception. Officers give him side-eyed looks and turn their faces away from him while he stands, awaiting. It's a usual part of his job, too, to be rejected by the local police. His lack of familiarity from the city turns his presence into a discomfort for those who grew up there, those who voluntarily put themselves in positions to protect their hometowns.</p>
<p>He's used to it, though, and when the sheriff appears, there's recognition in his expression for a second, before he offers a gentle grin. "Good to see you again, detective. Please, come to my office."</p>
<p>Harry doesn't miss his cue and follows the man until they have reached said room. Stan closes the door, and when Harry is offered a seat at his desk, he gestures to a stack of documents and folders at the edge of the tabletop.</p>
<p>"It's all the information that we gathered from this morning's investigation." He tells Harry. "Forensics, crime scene photos, and in that box, there are a few items I can let you take a look at it after it comes back from the lab to test for any DNA that may have been left behind."</p>
<p>As he talks, Harry goes through the folders and files, handling each document with careful fingertips. "What about the autopsy's report?" Harry questions, feeling his curls fall on top of his eyes. He doesn't care enough to brush it away.</p>
<p>Stan ponders. "The autopsy report is supposed to be delivered tomorrow." He answers.</p>
<p>Harry stops for a second, grasping at a picture taken of Claire's face. The lack of bruising and wounds stuns him again, as he reminds himself the how the rest of her were. He shivers, looking up at the sheriff who stands with crossed arms over his loosen-up vest. "Is there any chance that I can accompanying the autopsy?"</p>
<p>Stan bites the inside of his mouth. "I'm afraid that's not possible." He sighs. "The autopsy is made overnight, but I could let you take a look at the body early in the morning, at the morgue."</p>
<p>Harry inhales, not expecting the dense, thick air that surrounds the atmosphere. He glances towards Stan, nodding. "That would be of help. Thank you, Sheriff."</p>
<p>The sheriff nods, kind eyes staring back at him. "I have to lock the office in a few, but feel free to take these with you. We have copies."</p>
<p>The investigator's shoulders loosen up at the thought of having time to go over the papers, of being able to work at his own rhythm. "I appreciate the help, again. I'll see you tomorrow."</p>
<p>After that, Harry drives his way back to the hotel, ready to spend the remaining hours of the evening submerged in the investigation.</p>
<p>He reads over the reports, the interviews made with people that live nearby where the crime occurred. Allegedly, no one had mentioned dubious activity in the area; no suspicious vehicles were reported, not even noises from the struggle. In his second cup of coffee, close to midnight, Harry shudders at the thought of screaming for help, only for it to go unheard, unnoticed.</p>
<p>The crime scene pictures are as gruesome as the real thing. The photographers captured details that Harry had noticed early that day; the strangulation marks in her neck, the defensive wounds in her hands and arms, and the bruises in her bare chest showed that she had been held face down, against her will. Although she was found with her lower body clothed, Harry hopes that she didn't suffer any sexual assault during her struggle.</p>
<p>He moves on to the pictures of her car and its interior. His hands tremble, a consequence from the exaggerated amount of caffeine he had taken, while he spent another hour towards dawn, looking at the same pictures of the car, searching each inch of the photograph for something that might help the course of the case.</p>
<p>Nothing extraordinary appears, but Harry doesn't fail to spot details and write them down at his notebook.</p>
<p>
  <em>A stain in the edge of the driver's seat. Maybe spilled coffee/other beverage.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Necklace hanging from the rear view mirror.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Coat in the backseat.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A pair of shoes under the passenger seat.</em>
</p>
<p>Harry stops.</p>
<p>He reads over his last written sentence, attentive eyes going over the element he spotted. The shoes, which seems to be owned by Claire herself, were left under the passenger seat. Making more of a mess of the documents on the hotel's tiny desk, possibly throwing papers on the floor, he grabs a picture of Claire's entire body, and realizes she's wearing pants, socks, but no shoes.</p>
<p>The mud and dirt evident in her socks highly suggest that she had exited the car without shoes.</p>
<p>Claire's last moments may have been a rush of adrenaline, considering that she didn't care putting her shoes on before getting out of her vehicle. Or, Harry thinks, maybe she was pulled out of the car forcefully, which would explain why the driver's door was left open.</p>
<p>Harry wants to pull at his own hair for creating more doubts than responses, but he recognizes that something like this was exactly what he was looking for. The more questions made, the more chances of getting an answer.</p>
<p>The answer, however, wouldn't come to him at three in the morning, while a light drizzle creates a melody in the glass of the window, echoing through his quiet hotel room.</p>
<p>He decides to go to bed, then, despite the desperate buzz in his mind, begging for him to continue looking further, disregarding his physical state. Exhausted, he falls asleep before he knows it, with scenes of Claire and her peaceful face painted behind his eyelids.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With just a few hours of sleep in him, Harry drives to the station not long after sunrise.</p>
<p>The town looks warmer during that time, with slight orange tones peeking from behind the mist in the atmosphere, but the place is still eerie. Harry can almost physically feel it, deep down in his bones, the way that each hour in that place adds to his discomfort, creeps into his bloodstream like a parasite.</p>
<p>He's always been a good detective, has been the golden man at his county for years, but he certainly doesn't feel like it; not when he's seeing gruesome scenes and passing through unnerving parts of the city and its dark surrounding woods just to get to where he needs to. He can't wait to leave, after putting the killer behind bars.</p>
<p>He arrives at the station not long after and appreciates the lack of an overwhelming quantity of police cars, which is understandable by the early time he enters the building. A single officer stands in the reception, and when Harry asks him for the sheriff, the man takes Harry directly towards the morgue.</p>
<p>The investigator can hear Stan's voice echoing faintly through the long hallway that leads to the morgue. The white walls are too bright, spotless, and he shivers just thinking of the bodies that have crossed that same path. On the last door, the officer excuses himself, and Harry is left alone at the morgue's entrance.</p>
<p>Before he twists the doorknob in his hand, Harry can hear another voice inside, one other than Stan's. It's high pitched and the tone is coated in annoyance. By the muffled dynamic of the conversation, Harry can tell that there's a heated discussion happening.</p>
<p>He creaks the door open, the handles moaning as he does so, and then there are two pairs of eyes on him and his tall frame, standing by the door.</p>
<p>"Styles." Stan says, swallowing short in his throat. He places his hands on his hips and gestures for Harry to come inside. There's another man standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. He's shorter, brown hair and tan skin, contrasted with Stan's and Harry's own pale complex.</p>
<p>Harry breathes, ignoring the obvious tension in the room. "Good morning, Sheriff. Is everything alright?" He asks, voice reverberating inside.</p>
<p>"Yes, absolutely." Stan nods, and turns to the other man in front of him. Something in his eyes show discontent about his presence, and Harry bites his lips. "This is Harry Styles, he's a private investigator from the County." The sheriff offers, and then turns to Harry. "This is Detective Tomlinson, he used to work here."</p>
<p>"Oh," Harry nods, subconsciously gripping his notebook tighter. "Have you been assigned for the case as well?" He asks the shorter man, whom he notices, doesn't seem mellow at all.</p>
<p>His eyes are ice cold and intense when he looks towards Harry's direction. "That's none of your concern." He hisses, and Harry feels his chest heaving with an unexpected adrenaline.</p>
<p>Stan's voice disrupts the hostility of the moment, sounding just as annoyingly as the detective. "But it is of <em>my</em> concern, Tomlinson, and I still don't understand why you're here."</p>
<p>"We're not having this discussion in a morgue." Detective Tomlinson looks up at the sheriff and speaks through a tight jaw.</p>
<p>Harry takes a step back, reconsidering his presence in the place. There's a silhouette under a white cloth on the morgue table between them, and he shivers at the realization. "I'm sorry, I think I should go."</p>
<p>"No, Styles," Stan protests. "Stay, don't mind him."</p>
<p>Harry tries to not notice the sharp stares he gets from the detective, as the three men approach the table and the body. The sheriff removes the white cloth from Claire's corpse, revealing bits of her at ever inch he pulls.</p>
<p>She looks even more pallid now that the mud and dry blood has been washed away. Her bruises are darker against her cold skin, and the cuts around her body seem more evident, gashes exposed and intrusive on her innocent frame. Harry winces, and he finds himself unable to look away from her face, again. Her eyes appear to be deeper, more tired, surrounded by purplish tones, eternally motionless.</p>
<p>"Here." Stan offers Harry a pair of gloves, before offering another pair to detective Tomlinson, who snatches it without much gentleness.</p>
<p>Once Harry's hands are protected, he examines her arms, checking the defensive wounds. He makes a mental note about trying to identify what kind of blade could cut so deeply, down to the bone. He spots a few scratches in her wrists, but they seem to be self-inflicted. There's also a faint red bruise around her wrist bones, indicating that she was bounded in some way, maybe by the killer's own hands, maybe by a rope or something of the sort. It adds to the suggestion that she was held and pressed down against the ground.</p>
<p>"Is there any indication of sexual assault?" Harry questions, voice slightly trembling as it echoes through the morgue.</p>
<p>He looks up at Stan as the sheriff checks the autopsy papers. He shakes his head a few moments later. "No." He says simply.</p>
<p>Harry breathes, a bit more relieved. "What was the estimated time of death, before she was found?"</p>
<p>Stan blinks, staring at the paper. "Around nine hours."</p>
<p>Harry thinks to himself as he stares at the girl's blonde locks of hair. "She was found at eight a.m., yesterday." The investigator mumbles to himself. "So, she was possibly already deceased before midnight, Sunday."</p>
<p>"You did that math all by yourself?" The detective rudely interrupts.</p>
<p>Harry sends a glare towards his way, bothered by the way that his impolite posture barely breaks as he does so. He inhales, fighting the annoyance that threatens to rush up his structure, and ignores Tomlinson's comment. "At what time was she reported missing?" Harry quizzes.</p>
<p>"The file was completed at eight p.m., I took in the case of her disappearance right after, with her parents still here at the station." The sheriff informs.</p>
<p>Harry glances down at the corpse, then up at the detective. It caught him off guard, how Tomlinson's expressions had changed as he stared down at Claire's face. It was one of empathy, pain, and anger joined the mix as he clenches his jaw.</p>
<p>"Her face isn't damaged." Tomlinson points out, and Harry shivers at the similarity of their perception. Then, the detective looks up, eyes watering, and locks his gaze with Stan's. "Not a scratch on her face." He mumbles, voice shaking, and exchanges some sort of emotion with Stan, one of recognition, indicating that both men may know something that Harry doesn't.</p>
<p>Detective Tomlinson storms out of the morgue after that, leaving a stunned Harry and a sighing, unfazed Stan behind.</p>
<p>"What's wrong with him?" Harry asks, unable to stop himself from commenting.</p>
<p>The sheriff shrugs. "It's a long story."</p>
<p>Harry decides to leave it at that and focuses back on the case, quite literally, lying in front of him. "Anyways, I assume the cause of death is strangulation?" The investigator continues.</p>
<p>"Asphyxiation, yes." Stan confirms. "However, it's possible that she would die regardless of the strangulation, from blood loss consequent of her wounds."</p>
<p>Harry cringes slightly, running his gloved digits through hardened patches of skin underneath the bruises in her collarbones and shoulders. There's small scratches and irritations in her breasts, maybe from being dragged while she was already held down. Could be consequent of her movements as she struggled against her attacker, Harry considers.</p>
<p>"So, she was stabbed and cut before she died." Harry thinks out loud. "Was that some sort of torture? Why the overkill?"</p>
<p>Stan shrugs, tossing the autopsy's report on another unused table. "I don't know. But it's sick, twisted."</p>
<p>"Tell me about it." Harry agrees. "It's brutal."</p>
<p>The investigator covers Claire's body again, preserving the sight of her state under a white cloth, and he shivers as he glances at the girl's peaceful, lifeless face, one last time. "Could you give me her parent's contact number? I'd like to talk to them myself."</p>
<p>"Of course." Stan agrees and complies. "We have an interrogation room here if you'd like to use it. I can arrange it for you this afternoon."</p>
<p>"That would be useful. I’ll come around later this evening." Harry says, turning his heel to walk away.</p>
<p>"Wait," The sheriff touches Harry's shoulder just before he leaves the morgue. "Here, copies of the autopsy's report, in case you want to dig into that."</p>
<p>After a thankful grin, the investigator exits the building, notebook, and folders in hand, only to spot the figure of the discourteous detective from before. He stands in the station's parking lot, a cigarette between his lips and hands on his pockets. Harry ignores his presence, walks towards his car, and ignores the brief glances he receives from Tomlinson.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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<p>Claire has the same hair as her mother. Harry can't help but notice.</p>
<p>She's a middle-aged lady, blonde locks cascading down her shoulders and her eyes are a deep blue. Harry wonders if Claire had the same eye color, and it comes to his realization that he hadn't seen a picture of her before her death.</p>
<p>"I talked to the police yesterday, already." The woman expresses, features deepened with grief.</p>
<p>From across the table, Harry grins empathetically at the mother, hoping that it would give her some sense of comfort. Unfortunately, he knows it won't. "I know, Mrs. Denholm, but I'm not the police. I'm a private investigator, I was sent by the County's Department, I came all the way from the South, and I am not going back until the case is solved." He explains, and it somehow makes the lady's hands tremble slightly less.</p>
<p>Mrs. Denholm nods timidly, looking down at the surface of the table, hands between her knees and eyes threatening to water. "Okay." She consents, and Harry plans his next words.</p>
<p>"I can't even begin to grasp how hard it must have been for you and your family." He speaks softly, his tone barely echoing in the closed room. "I need you to tell me what happened before Claire left the house."</p>
<p>The woman sighs, fighting the dark sorrow surrounding her heart. "Claire and her father, my husband, were fighting a lot for the past week. It was just about her grades at school, but she never liked to be confronted." The lady sniffled, picking at her own fingertips on top of the table. "I came home from work, they were shouting at one another, so she packed a bag, grabbed her keys and left. I never thought it was going to be the last time I'd see her."</p>
<p>Mrs. Denholm cries then, unable to hold back from the overwhelming emotions. Harry fights tears himself as he places his hands on top of the woman's trembling knuckles, offering comfort. She squeezes his fingers, sniffling and whimpering quietly. "My husband is devasted, I couldn't even get him out of the house today."</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Denholm. You and your family shouldn't have to go through this." Harry presses his hands together, biting the inside of his mouth to hold his emotions in. "There's something else I want to ask you. Do you have any idea of where she could have stayed when she left?"</p>
<p>The woman thinks for a moment. "She had a best friend, her name is Riley Mitchell, she lives on the other side of town, but they went to school together. Claire was always with her, so I'd assume that's where she stayed."</p>
<p>Harry nods. "I appreciate the information, ma'am, and that you came here to talk to me. Claire deserves justice. I won't let this case go cold."</p>
<p>"Thank you, sir." She grins weakly.</p>
<p>Harry smiles back. "Please, call me Harry. I'll be working around town until we solve this, you can contact me at any time if anything else that you think it's important comes to mind, alright?"</p>
<p>"Alright." Mrs. Denholm sniffles at last, drawing her hands back to dry her tears.</p>
<p>Harry is positive that this is the worst part of his job. Worse than the corpses, the gruesome crime scenes, the frustrations of a tangled case, the dead-end leads. He's an emotional person, and it's difficult for him to not sympathize with the victims and the victim's families. Somehow, it motivates him to go forward, to not give up until he has all the answers, until justice has been served. Perhaps, it’s the reason why he's so good at his job.</p>
<p>Then, something clicks in his mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>"She packed a bag, grabbed her keys and left."</em>
</p>
<p>She packed a bag.</p>
<p>A bag.</p>
<p>There was no bag in the car or in the crime scene.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Denholm," Harry calls, tone suddenly serious. The woman looks towards him, flushed and teary. "You said she packed a bag. Do you remember what that bag looked like? Can you describe it?"</p>
<p>The lady ponders for a moment, confused. "I think it was light yellow, there were some stamps on it, but I can't recall exactly." She describes. Harry's mind buzzes as it often does when he finds a possible new lead. "Why?" She asks.</p>
<p>The investigator grins. The grey tones of the interrogation room only add to his anxiety. "It's important for us to know all the details, in case of a possible clue we haven't given enough attention yet."</p>
<p>The grieving mother nods, maybe too sorrowful to question further. Harry leads her out of the room gently. "Thank you again for the cooperation, Mrs. Denholm. I promise you; Claire will have justice."</p>
<p>She looks like she holds onto the promise, and appreciatively grins at Harry, before walking out and towards the station's reception. Harry accompanies her, and much for the investigator's dismay, a familiar figure approaches Mrs. Denholm on her way out.</p>
<p>"Hi! I'm sorry to be so sudden, I'm a detective too, and I wanted to ask you something." Detective Tomlinson questions, gently speaking towards the grieving mother.</p>
<p>Harry, on the other hand, feels his chest heaving with annoyance at the other man. "Detective Tomlinson, what are you doing?" He asks, but Tomlinson barely bats an eye, ignoring Harry as he focuses completely on Mrs. Denholm.</p>
<p>"Did you daughter have a boyfriend? Or a partner, in general?" He questions the lady.</p>
<p>From where Harry's standing, he can see the mother's sad eyes drop to the floor as she searches for an answer. "Ahn, yes, a boyfriend." She responds.</p>
<p>"Could I have his name, please?" Detective Tomlinson adds.</p>
<p>"Thomas Hale." Mrs. Denholm answers. Harry watches quietly as the woman's features twists into morbid doubts. "Do you think he could have-"</p>
<p>Tomlinson is quick, blue eyes that were gelid before, are now warm, and sweet. "We don't know, ma'am, but we must go over everyone that surrounded her. Thank you, and I'm sorry for your loss."</p>
<p>With that, Mrs. Denholm nods and exits the building, her heart carrying heavy grief out the door. Harry fights the adrenaline in his veins, the heated irritation that makes his hands clench, when he looks at Detective Tomlinson and finds a smug smirk splattered on his face.</p>
<p>"I'm asking you again, what are you trying to do?" Harry questions in an angry whisper, glancing around at the officers standing in the reception.</p>
<p>"What do you think, <em>investigator</em>?" Tomlinson says, tone unkind and cold. "I'm trying to help with the bloody case. Now, if you'll excuse me,"</p>
<p>The shorter man tries to take the papers and folders from Harry's grip, but the investigator quickly retracts his hand, his green eyes piercing through Tomlinson's face. "Don't." Harry warns.</p>
<p>The detective shrugs, unbothered. "Well, want to come and help me then?"</p>
<p>"Thought it was none of my concern." Harry hisses.</p>
<p>Again, the shorter man shows no reaction. "Whatever. Follow me if you want to."</p>
<p>Tomlinson walks past Harry, towards the long corridor where the offices are located. Harry doesn't know why, but he follows the man as he paces further into the station's maze-like hallways with familiarity, and he remembers Stan saying that Detective Tomlinson used to work there.</p>
<p>Eventually, Tomlinson reaches the Sheriff's office, that seems to be empty. He glances around, and when no other worker is in sight, he enters the room. Harry follows, and steps inside carefully as he watches the detective move behind the Sheriff's desk, pressing buttons on the keyboard.</p>
<p>Harry closes the door once he realizes what is going on. "Are you breaking into the Sheriff's computer?" Harry whispers, now suddenly paranoid, as he looks around but finds no one.</p>
<p>Tomlinson smirks. "He won't mind if he doesn't find out."</p>
<p>He types, focused, and Harry doesn't move away from where he's standing. His face is illuminated by the screen's faint light, his gaze shifting through the large monitor. Harry can't help but notice a pattern in Tomlinson's behavior, how he eagerly grabs pen and paper from the desk and scribbles hastily when he finds the information he's looking for. Harry recognizes that he himself isn't so different.</p>
<p>The detective exhales relieved, the sound echoes through the quiet office. "Thomas Hale. Got his address. Is there any other name you would like to search?"</p>
<p>Harry bites the inside of his cheek, fighting with his inner annoyance. When he feels his own pride and dislike towards the man weight heavier than the need for information to help with the case, he breathes deeply, composing himself.</p>
<p>"Mitchell. Riley Mitchell." Harry says.</p>
<p>Tomlinson nods, and types frantically again, searching for the data until he finds it. "Got it." He informs, scribbling down on the paper. After that, he turns the computer off and exits the office, walking past Harry once again.</p>
<p>"What-" Harry mumbles, confused by the man's behavior, but follows him, nonetheless. Tomlinson exits the building with the paper in his hand, and he only looks up from it when he reaches Harry's car on the parking lot.</p>
<p>Tomlinson locks his eyes on Harry, tapping on the hood of his vehicle. "Come on, we don't have all day. I'll talk to the boyfriend and you can go over the Riley girl." He says, his tone demanding and somewhat rude, despite his train of thought making sense for the case.</p>
<p>"What makes you so certain that I'm going to drive you around?" Harry questions as he unlocks his car, but Tomlinson doesn't offer him a reply, as he simply sits on the passenger seat. "Fucking prick." Harry mumbles, entering the car too and ignoring the other man's presence as he drives away.</p>
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<p>"When was the last time you saw Claire?"</p>
<p>Riley swallows a lump down her throat, but Harry doesn't find her body language lingering around suspicion. Maybe, because she's crying, and her eyes are already swollen from days’ worth of grieving. The young girl is holding tightly onto her mother's hand as the pair sits on their living room couch.</p>
<p>Harry waits until the teenager stops the quiet sobbing that keeps her from answering, his head hanging low. When he hears her voice, he looks up.</p>
<p>"Sunday, before she left." Riley informs, wiping her tears away.</p>
<p>Harry ponders for a moment before adding; "She stayed the entirety of Saturday night in your household, is that correct?" He asks Mrs. Mitchell, Riley's mother, whose long brown curls resemble his own.</p>
<p>"Yes." Mrs. Mitchell responds, holding her daughter's hand. "Claire was such a sweet girl. We all cared a lot for her. She came around very often and they were best friends for so long," She speaks, her own voice tight with sadness. "I don't understand it."</p>
<p>Harry offers a sympathetic grin. "Neither do we, Mrs. Mitchell. It's a terrible occurrence and we are putting all efforts to find who is behind this." He says. "That's why I need to know everything that happened here before she left. It might help fill in a few blanks."</p>
<p>Mrs. Mitchell nods, and Riley sobs quietly, drawing her knees together. Harry turns to the young girl, who looks up at him with deepening features. Harry feels his chest tighten; it's painful to see someone as young as Riley having to experience a horrid feeling at such an early age. He can almost see her youth and energy dissolving into a bitter realization; the layers of innocence peeling back to reveal a cruel world.</p>
<p>"Riley, did Claire express any concerns to you that night? Did she mention anyone that wanted to hurt her? Were there any threats? Did she seem fearful for her life?" Harry quizzes, ignoring the knot in his own throat.</p>
<p>The teenager shakes her head. "No, she was fine. Everything was normal. She was just mad at her dad, but nothing out of the ordinary."</p>
<p>Harry nods. "I see. Did she bring anything when she came?"</p>
<p>Riley furrows her eyebrows, confused. "What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"Like, a bag, clothes, things of the sort." The investigator replies.</p>
<p>"Oh." Riley's eyes roam the center table for a moment. Harry can almost see her brain collecting the memories of Saturday night, the last hours she spent with her best friend, unknowing of her tragic fate. "She just brought a bag with her clothes and stuff. She always did when she came over."</p>
<p>"Can you describe what that bag looked like?" Harry adds.</p>
<p>The teen nods. "Yeah, ahn, it was light yellow, I guess. There were some butterflies stamped on it."</p>
<p>The house is so quiet that Harry can hear the wind singing outside. He can hear the cars that drive by slowly, the echoes of Claire's and Riley's laughter, now resonating like a ghost in the walls of the home. He visualizes Claire's blonde hair splayed on the couch's cushions as she rests there, enjoying a movie with her best friend and having no greater worries in her life.</p>
<p>Harry feels his stomach drop at each small notice, the signs of an existence that had been cruelly and violently stolen. Maybe, he too, is losing his youth to the brutal truth.</p>
<p>He tries to ignore his own feelings, focusing on the timeline of the case, concretizing in his brain with each bit of information. "At what time did she leave, approximately?"</p>
<p>"She had lunch with us, then left around two pm." Riley tells, tangling her fingers with her mother's, her knuckles turning white as she painfully remembers. She looks up at Harry, tears falling down her cheeks. "I never would have let her leave, if only I knew,"</p>
<p>Harry's heart breaks as he watches the impact of Claire's death on the lives of people around her. He can't help but to feel grief himself, although he had never met the young girl before her passing. It pains him in a way that it's frustrating, almost draining, if it didn't fuel him to investigate further.</p>
<p>"It's not your fault, Riley." Harry assures. "No one could have known, only the responsible for it. Don't let this weight fall on your shoulders, yeah? You were her best friend until the end, and nothing can change that."</p>
<p>Mrs. Mitchell grins appreciatively at Harry's words. Something in the atmosphere tells the investigator that the mother has been trying to tell her daughter the same thing.</p>
<p>Riley nods, timidly, wiping her tears. "I guess you're right."</p>
<p>Harry exits the home a few minutes after with heavy dread in his heart.</p>
<p>He drives back to the location where he had dropped Tomlinson off. The thought of the rude detective makes his stomach drop again, as if remembering the man was painful enough.</p>
<p>Harry liked to think of himself as a forgiving, light-hearted person, focused and intelligent enough to not let anyone or anything get in the way of his work. However, something in that case drew his most unfortunate traits out of him, one of them being his blinding annoyance.</p>
<p>Detective Tomlinson's unnecessary behavior was drastically dragging his mood down, and when he picks the man up from Thomas Hale's address, he can't help but wonder to himself why he was still following along with the detective's petulant manners.</p>
<p>Tomlinson enters the car as soon as Harry pulls over and slams the door with a frustrated sight. Harry grips the steering wheel to fight the urge to throw any rude comment.</p>
<p>"Nothing suspicious about the boyfriend." Tomlinson says. His voice echoes inside the car and Harry never wanted to be alone so badly as he does then. "He has a strong alibi; the lad was in his dad's car shop working late hours."</p>
<p>"Alright." Harry expresses simply, noting the information in his mind to add to his reports later on. "Where do I drop you off?" He questions, monotone, feeling Tomlinson's gaze burning a hole in his temple. He ignores it, looking towards the road.</p>
<p>The detective sighs. "At the station. Left my car there."</p>
<p>Only then, Harry glances sharply at the other man. "If you have a car, why did you make me drive you around?" He asks, failing to control his tone.</p>
<p>Tomlinson shrugs. "Didn't feel like driving." He responds in the unbothered tone that drives Harry absolutely mad.</p>
<p>The investigator feels himself snap and does nothing to control it. "So, you're saying that you've been rude to me since the first time you've looked at me, then you inserted yourself into my investigation while I still don't even know your name, and now you've made me into your private driver for kicks?"</p>
<p>Harry knows he's shouting by the end of his sentence. He can hear himself inside the echo of the car, along with the grief and dread that has been piling over his head since the moment he took the case. He doesn't find himself overwhelmed that often, but at that moment, he allows himself to feel it.</p>
<p>Tomlinson is quiet, but for Harry's unfortune, the silence doesn't last long. "I mean, we could drive in separate cars the next time, just thought it would be easier this way. No need for a fit, <em>investigator</em>."</p>
<p>Harry feels his blood boiling. Tomlinson seemed so detached from the case, almost dispassionate and apathetic, despite his efforts, all while Harry lost hours of sleep thinking about it. He couldn't work with that any longer. "I can't believe this. There's a brutal murderer on the loose, and yet you act like a fucking prick because you feel like it. It's bloody disrespectful, <em>detective</em>, not only to me, but to Claire as well."</p>
<p>After that, a deafening silence falls on the inside of the vehicle. Harry knows he reached low on that note, but he doesn't regret his words. There's a growing sadness living in his lungs since the moment he laid eyes on Claire's body, and it has been getting stronger every minute, every hour in this town.</p>
<p>He glances aside for a second, finding Tomlinson's eyes pointed straight ahead, his jaw clenching, but there's no anger in his expression. For Harry, it's somewhat satisfying, but he doesn't allow himself to feel any positive emotion for now.</p>
<p>When they reach the police station, Harry pulls over and unlocks the passage door without batting an eye to Tomlinson's direction. He hears the detective exit the car, not slamming the door this time, and then he leans over to the window after a second of hesitance.</p>
<p>"Look-" The man tries, his tone now apologetic, but Harry cuts it short.</p>
<p>"Save it, Tomlinson." He interrupts, voice tired and frustrated; from the case or for the man's behavior, he doesn't know.</p>
<p>Harry drives away and glances at Tomlinson's figure in the rear view mirror, until the city's appalling mist turns his silhouette into nothing.</p>
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<p>Claire Denholm's funeral happens the next morning.</p>
<p>Harry is there, standing in between the other figures that circle Claire's casket. The wind carries away the words of the priest that speaks over her resting place, and the cries of loved ones are nothing but a tragic soundtrack to the sad scene.</p>
<p>The wreath of flowers above Claire's coffin is beautiful, Harry thinks, and he focuses his gaze on the bright chrysanthemums and lilies to avoid the distraught faces around him. His heart feels heavy, and his chest carries a sorrowful feeling that doesn't seem to leave. The ceremony is quiet, and the atmosphere holds a haunting doubt in everyone's mind. The air is tense and cold, due to the circumstances of her death. It's one of the most painful and dreadful experiences of Harry's life, he believes.</p>
<p>When her casket is lowered, his green eyes follow, until the young girl's eternal resting place swallows her body whole, behind the layers of the earth that someone should never have to be under at such a young age.</p>
<p>He recognizes Mrs. Denholm close by her daughter's tombstone, as she's settled inside the embrace of her husband, Claire's father. Harry can't contain his own tears when he realizes that the couple were forced to bury their only child.</p>
<p>He cries silently, letting his tears fall and instantly freeze his skin. Somewhere in his mind, he finds comfort at noticing the large quantity of people that attend her funeral. He sees Riley and her family, along with other teenagers that seem to have been Claire's friends too. He sees police offices, he sees Sheriff Lucas, and then he sees <em>him</em>.</p>
<p>Detective Tomlinson's eyes are lowered too, staring intensely at the hole in the ground that receives shoves full of dirt for what felt like forever. Harry notices his eye bags, deep, purplish against his tanned skin and his carved features. He doesn't feel the same anger as he did the day before; in fact, he feels relieved to see the detective there, present, aware of the impact left by the victim's passing.</p>
<p>Harry wonders if he had read the man in the wrong way. Maybe Tomlinson wasn't cold and distant after all, despite his rude behavior and petulant tone. He ignores the twinge of regret in his system, and when Tomlinson glances towards him for a split second, he looks away and fixates his eyes in the wreath of flowers, now placed above the disturbed dirt on the ground in front of Claire's gravestone.</p>
<p>When the ceremony is over, Harry stands from afar, respecting the space of people closer to Claire as they stay longer, almost wishing to offer her company for the last time.</p>
<p>The crowd begins to slowly dissipate as time passes, and soon there's just her family there, and Tomlinson, who walks towards Harry a few moments before Claire's parents leave. The detective stands beside Harry without saying a word, turned towards Claire's grave, as they now lean against a tree.</p>
<p>After minutes of silence, the man breaks the singing of the wind with a single word. "Louis."</p>
<p>Harry glances at the man like he's delusional, but he can't force himself to feel angry. Not when his heart is full of anguish. "What?"</p>
<p>The detective then looks up at Harry, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, protected from the cold. "My name."</p>
<p>Harry simply nods as he glances at <em>Louis</em>. He turns to look at Claire's grave again, and his heart sinks when there isn't anyone standing there anymore. It's a raw realization, how lonely death really is, and how one day, he'll be in the same position.</p>
<p>"You were right." Louis says, his high-pitched voice quietened by emotions not much different from Harry's. "I was being a dickhead."</p>
<p>"I'm glad you noticed it." Harry speaks, but he recognizes no anger in his own tone, no poison or annoyance.</p>
<p>When Louis chuckles lightly, Harry forces himself look down at the man to confirm it, and for some reason, the investigator finds himself fighting a small smile of his own. "It's not a laughing matter."</p>
<p>"It really isn't." Louis shakes his head, grinning shallowly. When he gazes towards Harry again, his features are genuine, almost vulnerable, and for that, Harry is truly relieved. "Can we start this over?"</p>
<p>Harry is the one that chuckles this time. Comically, he sticks his hand out of his pocket, despite the burning cold. “Harry Styles, private investigator. I'm from London."</p>
<p>Louis smiles and shakes Harry's hand with exaggerated politeness. The touch is warm on Harry's skin, contrasted with the chilly temperatures, and his fingers tingle with the sudden wave of heat. "I'm Louis Tomlinson, police detective and I'm from, well, here."</p>
<p>When the pair retract their hands and turn back to look at Claire's final resting spot, it feels like ice melting down their spines. Harry shivers, and although he feels a bit lighter than before, the situation is nothing of the sort. Claire is still deceased, a murderer is roaming free, and there's a thousand questions hidden in the air, clouded by the city's mist.</p>
<p>"I still want to help with the case, if you allow me to." Louis speaks, looking at him.</p>
<p>And for some reason, Harry agrees. Maybe it's the way Louis' blue eyes are warm despite the gelid gush of wind that runs past them, or the dried tear-tracks staining his chiseled cheekbones, showing that he really cares.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Jigsaw Falling into Place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Where was she going?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Why did Claire pull over in the middle of the woods?</em>
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  <em>Where’s her bag?</em>
</p>
<p>Harry adds the three sticky notes to the wall, next to pictures of the crime scene.</p>
<p>It’s been hours now, and the investigator has been staring at the dozens of papers and photos he had pinned on top of the hotel room’s ugly wallpaper. The case was put on visual display, with red threads connecting the information he had gathered so far, but it didn’t untangle the most unnerving questions, just yet.</p>
<p>His head ached by the minute, and each cup of coffee he swallowed delayed hours of rest, leaving no space for him to clear his mind. Harry was determined, despite his mental fatigue. The photographs were now familiar in his memory as he tried to memorize every inch of the graphic scenes, however, it brought him nowhere.</p>
<p>Tired of the dead end leads, Harry lies in his hotel bed and stares at the blank ceiling for a change. His eyes burn and his vision spins, his senses clouded in exaggerated focus, until he hears a knock on the door.</p>
<p>He barely remembers walking up to open it, only realizing he’s standing once Louis’ figure comes into view and he has to stumble back to let the man inside.</p>
<p>“You don’t look so great.” Louis says, squinting his eyes as he glances Harry’s structure up and down.</p>
<p>Harry fights the urge to flip him off as he stumbles back towards his mattress and hears the detective shutting the door behind him. “You’re not my type either.”</p>
<p>Louis chuckles and approaches, holding a bag in his hands. “What a shame. Here, brought you a late night snack.”</p>
<p>“Is it nighttime already?” The tired investigator takes it, his expression holding nothing but confusion. He runs a hand through his hair and notices his curls are too tangled together to do so.</p>
<p>The shorter man places his hands on his hips, looking at Harry in disbelief. “You’re really driving yourself mad in here. It’s almost eleven.”</p>
<p>Harry ignores the information and digs into the food Louis had kindly given to him. The detective, on the other hand, turns to observe the papers and sticky notes on the wall opposite to the bed, his gaze now attentive and focused. “I won’t even ask how long it took you to put this up.” Louis says, fingers grazing the few notes that stick out.</p>
<p>“Don’t ruin it, I put my sweat and tears into that since I came back from the funeral.” Harry tells.</p>
<p>Louis glances back. “Care to guide me through it, then?”</p>
<p>The suggestion feels like the first twinge of caffeine in Harry’s bloodstream. “You really want me to?”</p>
<p>“It is <em>your</em> investigation. I want to know all you’ve gathered before I can add with anything.”</p>
<p>With that, Harry puts the food aside and pulls the chair on the desk towards Louis. “Here, sit,” Harry requests hurriedly, before moving to stand in front of the busy wall.</p>
<p>“What do we have?” The detective asks, placing an ankle over the knee and crossing his arms.</p>
<p>“I created a timeline, there’s a few holes in it, but here;” Harry breathes and begins by pointing on the red line on the far left side, and his fingers trails over it as he explains. “So, it starts on the 15<sup>th</sup> of February, a Saturday. Claire has a fight with her father, the motive is vague and irrelevant to the crime. She leaves home by the time her mother arrives from work, at seven p.m. She drives to her best friend’s house, Riley, where she spends the night and leaves the next day around two p.m. Then, there’s a gap.”</p>
<p>Louis leans in closer, interested. “A gap?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’ve found no information of where she was or who she was with between the time she left Riley’s, and the time she was murdered, around or before midnight, Sunday night, the 16<sup>th</sup>.” Harry informs.</p>
<p>“That’s almost ten hours.” Louis points out, thinking out loud.</p>
<p>The investigator nods and proceeds. “She was reported missing by her parents on Sunday night as well, after she failed to return home, and it’s estimated that the missing’s file was completed before her death.”</p>
<p>Harry sights, moving onto the more graphic part of the wall. “Claire was found during a search party, after officers spotted her car pulled over, with the driver’s door left open, on the empty south road. Her body wasn’t far away from her vehicle, and it’s suggested that she was pulled out of the car, due to her lack of shoes.”</p>
<p>Both men sight before Harry carries on. The difficult part approaches and his heart fills with dread for the hundredth time that week. “She was found laid on her back, her upper body exposed as her shirt was ripped open. Her lower body was covered, and there were no signs of sexual assault. However, scratches in her chest and abdomen instigate that she was held face down at some point, against her will. Her wrists were bound together as well, and I believe that the cuts on her skin were made while she was bound and still alive.”</p>
<p>Louis visibly flinches as he glances at the pictures. Harry looks at the violence in the photos with familiarity at this point, but it still makes him shiver.</p>
<p>“I also believe that she somehow managed to struggle her way out of her restrains, as there were scratches in her wrists, and she was no longer bound when she was found. Also, the strangling might have been a desperate attempt to kill her quickly before she could fight back and eventually escape.”</p>
<p>“Was she strangled by hand?” Louis asks.</p>
<p>Harry perks up at the question. “There’s no other indication that it wasn’t. There was nothing wrapped around her neck and the asphyxiation bruises were consistent with handprints.” He responds and proceeds with his organized process. “Her face was left untouched and unharmed, which suggests that the killer might have some sort of obsession with her appearance.”</p>
<p>Louis shifts in his seat. “What about the motive?”</p>
<p>The investigator shrugs. “So far, it all points to a spontaneous, unplanned kill.”</p>
<p>“So, you think it’s a crime of opportunity?” The detective asks.</p>
<p>Harry nods. “It doesn’t seem premeditated. However, I do think that she was murdered by someone she knew, or maybe even trusted.”</p>
<p>“And why’s that?” Louis questions, picking on his own lip anxiously.</p>
<p>Harry points at the recently added sticky note; <em>Why did Claire pull over in the middle of the woods?</em></p>
<p>“She lived a few miles away from the spot she was killed, but around the road itself, there’s nothing. Only the woods. Therefore, the only reason she would have pulled over in that area was if she spotted someone she knew, or maybe, someone she had planned out to meet there.”</p>
<p>Louis quirks an eyebrow. “If she had planned to meet someone there, then maybe the crime was premeditated, after all.”</p>
<p>“Good point.” Harry says, realizing a blind spot in his timeline. He quickly scribbles Louis’ observation in another sticky note and places it next to the picture of the road she was found in.</p>
<p>“But those clues are on the edge of dead ends, Harry.” Louis comments. “The most concrete parts are missing still. Where’s the murder weapon? Where’s the restraints she was in?”</p>
<p>Harry listens and continues to write on his notepad as Louis speaks. Normally, he feels uncomfortable with other detectives finding holes in his investigation, but it feels like a weight taken off his shoulders when Louis offers him a different perspective.</p>
<p>“Those are all essential questions. No answers for them, thought. Not <em>yet</em>.” Harry points.</p>
<p>Louis stands up from his chair, then. Harry looks at him, and something flicks in the detectives’ expression. “Where was she going, before she pulled over?”</p>
<p>Harry blinks. “I would assume she was going home.”</p>
<p>Louis shakes his head, pointing at the map stuck to the wall. “No, she wasn’t. She was driving towards a completely opposite direction from her home.” He says, putting emphasis on the information. “What about tire tracks on the road? I’d suggest there was at least another vehicle on that road at the time of the murder.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t looked into that.” Harry admits, continuously writing down the questions they’re gathering. Something clicks in Harry’s mind, and he looks at Louis. “Do you think she was being followed and tried to divert her way for distraction?”</p>
<p>Louis bites his lips. “Or maybe she was being pursued.”</p>
<p>“Then why pull over on the side of the road during a pursue? That’s doesn’t make sense.” Harry points.</p>
<p>Louis shrugs, gaze lost in the make-shift panel in front of them. “Maybe she gave up, or thought she was safe. Either way, she stopped, and didn’t drove off until it was too late.”</p>
<p>It’s the final point of the investigation that always makes Harry’s headache worsen. No matter how many different leads he takes, how many questions are made and answered, how many clues are left behind; Claire is still dead, and her killer is out there, near or far.</p>
<p>Louis continues to scribble down on a random piece of paper and Harry stumbles to the bed, feeling lightheaded by the end of everything. He isn’t hungry or tired, just numb, his sense stolen by a twinge of hopelessness that he fights away. He can never allow himself to be hopeless, not while there’s people that are still alive and counting on him and his search for the truth.</p>
<p>“Too many questions.” He mumbles, letting his back hit the mattress.</p>
<p>Louis moves away from the panel and glances towards Harry. “You should rest, yeah? We can continue this tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Usually, Harry would refuse to doze off before his body shut down without his consent. However, something in Louis’ reassuring voice emphasized his fatigue, and his eyelids threatened to fall shut at each syllable spoken by the detective.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you in the morning, <em>investigator</em>.” Louis says playfully, patting Harry’s shoulder and exiting the room after grabbing his coat on his way out.</p>
<p>Harry forces himself out of bed, locks the door and shuts the lights off before he’s tempted to take another look at the pictures and papers displayed on the wall. He only grasps his consciousness again entirely once he’s in his car the next morning, driving back to the police station after half a cup of cold coffee.</p>
<p>The investigator keeps glancing at the original reports’ folders resting still at the seat beside him, as if the items would suddenly disappear; it was his way of avoiding looking through the town’s surroundings, escaping the reality that awaits him.</p>
<p>Upon reaching the station, he parks his car and enters the building, folders in hand. Early-shift cops pay no more than a peek at his frame. Harry doesn’t actually look at anyone other than the receptionist and then the Sheriff, who appears from the deep hallways that Harry is starting to grow familiar with.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Styles.” Stan greets the taller man, a hot mug of coffee in his hands. Harry almost perceives the sweet steam around the drink with envy. “How can we help you today?”</p>
<p>“Morning, Sheriff.” Harry grins faintly, showing his hands with the folders. “I thought you might want the original reports back.”</p>
<p>“You’re through with them already, I assume?” Stan questions, and Harry nods simply. “Well, I’d like to hear your conclusions, if you wouldn’t mind. Let’s go to my office.”</p>
<p>Harry follows the Sheriff with his loose and fatigued limbs towards the man’s office. Even during such an early hour of the morning, the thought of expressing all his insights about the case so far perks his interest in the moment.</p>
<p>Once inside the small room, Stan sits quietly and hears Harry’s constructed timeline and nods at every point and conclusion that comes to his knowledge. The investigator flips through the reports and works the weary gears in his mind to remember every little detail he perceived from the case.</p>
<p>“It’s a good timeline, Styles. Aside from the gap of almost ten hours, of course. But I don’t think it’s caused by a lack of work from you, at least.” Stan tells at the end of Harry’s speech, shooting the investigator with a caffeinated smile.</p>
<p>Harry tips his head, shrugging dimly. “We can’t find any records of her whereabouts during this gap for the time being. There’s a lot of people we haven’t talked to yet, I’m hoping <em>maybe</em> something will show up.” He says, hearing his own weak tone resonating through the small office.</p>
<p>Harry always despised the use of the term <em>maybe </em>during his investigations. The word seemed to mock him, to point at his weaknesses during a case, hiding something beneath it. Harry never enjoyed working with possibilities, being that his job itself, is about finding certainties.</p>
<p>“We?”</p>
<p>He hears Stan speaking, though his senses take a few seconds to notice it. “Oh, yes, I’m receiving a bit of help from Louis<em>- I mean,</em> Detective Tomlinson.” Harry responds, correcting himself amidst his sentence.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you were close, already.” The Sheriff glares towards him a few seconds too long, before his expression breaks out into an incredulous grin. “I bet he’s being tough to deal with.”</p>
<p>Harry smiles, for the first time that day. He doesn’t read too much into his own subconscious actions, although it confuses him. “He’s growing on me, despite the horrible first impressions he offered, that day at the morgue.” The investigator tells, eyes fixated on the surface of Stan’s desk, grinning to himself.</p>
<p>When he looks up, Stan has a similar expression on his own features. “We used to be good friends, y’know. But I think we are just condemned to grow apart, as we grow ourselves.”</p>
<p>“Indeed.” Harry says simply. Briefly, his mind goes through the few people he’s lost contact with for the past few years. Being so deep within the job makes it difficult to create any friendships, or any other relationships, at all.</p>
<p>“Be mindful of him, though.” Stan warns, concern coating his words. “I’m not sure he’s as neat as he used to be.”</p>
<p>Harry only nods, not absorbing the warning with much concern of his own. “Thank you for your time, Sheriff. Hope we can share more information next time.”</p>
<p>“Have a good day, Styles.”</p>
<p>With that, Harry leaves the office and exits the building, the morning sunlight already painting a warmer picture through the town’s skyline. </p>
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<p>The next day, Harry drives himself and Louis to the south road, where Claire was found.</p>
<p>He can almost see it from a mile away, the yellow crime scene tape wrapped and tied around trees, surrounding the place where the young girl’s body once laid. Chalk circles mark the spot where her car was parked before it was towed away for further analysis.</p>
<p>Harry shivers before they even exit his car, feeling the atmosphere around tense, much like his muscles when he looks around and recognizes everything that he saw on the first day he got there.</p>
<p>The woods are silent, dense, and intimidating; Harry can’t help but to feel trapped there, stuck in a place that now held horrid stories, and a hidden mystery.</p>
<p>The only sounds are their footsteps, boots knocking against the weak cement, and the clicking of Louis’ analog camera, strapped around his neck as he snaps pictures of his own. Harry watches from afar as the detective composes his own trail of investigation, his hands stuck in his pockets to protect himself from the gelid weather. He’s distracted when his senses alarm him of unforeseen attention.</p>
<p>He glances up, and Louis has his camera directed towards him. He hears the clicks, and behind the boxy analog thing, there’s a smile and an amused laugh. Harry can’t help but to smile too, as he displays his hand out towards the shorter man, blocking the camera’s view from his figure.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t aware that you were a paparazzi on your free time.” Harry says, but he’s doubtful that Louis can hear him from where he is. Soon, the lenses are turned away, back onto whatever Louis can find interesting for the case.</p>
<p>Moments later, while the trees are singing a song that Harry doesn’t enjoy, Louis looks towards him, expression now attentive, and points at the ground near the road’s shoulder, opposite to the side where Claire was found. Harry approaches, curious.</p>
<p>“Tire tracks.” Is all that Louis says, quietly, as if his voice could ruin the evidence. “Do you think they’ve noticed that before?”</p>
<p>Harry shakes his head, glancing at the faint darkened stains on the ground, the stamps of a tire, most likely belonging to the responsible for the crime. “I don’t recall seeing tire tracks on the reports.” He tells.</p>
<p>Louis snaps picture after picture, and Harry backs away. He forces himself to look behind him, where a young girl’s blood stained the sacred flooring of the woods. He feels like looking at an old scar, despite it happening not even a week later. Time feels dislocated, unimportant, in situations of life, death, and whatever comes in between.</p>
<p>The investigator paces towards the chalk circles, his mind racing, almost screaming for him to leave that spot, but he fights the urge to run away. He’s certain that Claire deserves it. He can at least feel his heart beating against his chest, a sensation that had been stolen from her.</p>
<p>He visualizes her car, parked right there where he stands, and he moves to the side that would bet the driver’s. He closes his eyes, breathing shallowly, and walks slowly, following the same path he assumed Claire had taken, or been forced to take.</p>
<p>“What are you doing, mate?” Louis’ voice echoes distantly in his head, his accent predominant, but too familiar for Harry to feel alarmed.</p>
<p>“I’m trying to,” He inhales, looking at his feet as he walks. “Follow her steps.” He completes, and if Louis says anything after that, he can’t hear it.</p>
<p>There’s something eerie about following the footsteps of someone that is no longer alive. After years of working in the most gruesome cases, Harry can never get used to the feeling; the twinge of guilt for being able to breathe, the thick atmosphere that surrounds the crime scenes, and the sensation that there’s ghosts watching his every step.</p>
<p>He continues to walk Claire’s path, his senses becoming numb at each step he takes. The place where he saw her body for the first time becomes less distant. His eyes water, but he can see it clearly, the outline of her arms, open against the floor of leaves. He can see her hair flowing like a river in between the greeneries. The tall trees around him feel like cages, locking him inside this everlasting prison of grief.</p>
<p>His heart thunders in his chest, a sign of life, and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he stops walking, fixating his feet just inches away from the crime scene tape that circles her unnatural and unfair death bed.</p>
<p>From far off away, he listens Louis’ voice resonating again, his tone dancing amongst the trees, but Harry’s mind is too far away to react.</p>
<p>“What kind of spirit just incarnated you?” Louis speaks, a smile evident in his speech. When there’s no reaction in return, Louis talks again, this time, a concerned call. “Harry?”</p>
<p>The investigator turns around slowly, feeling the breeze turn his tears to ice against his cheeks. He finds Louis’ blue eyes, and it’s a relief to discover such bright color amid the grey scene.</p>
<p>“We have to find the responsible for this.” Harry states, his voice wavering, his throat tied in a knot. “We <em>have</em> to, Louis- “</p>
<p>The detective places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, almost as if pulling him away from his own dazed state. “Alright, that’s it. Let’s go back to the car, yeah?” Louis advises, and Harry doesn’t fight it. He catches himself walking back to his car and leaning against the hood for balance.</p>
<p>“Listen, we will find whoever sick bastard is behind this, but this isn’t helping you. I need you to focus, alright? Breathe, in and out, just like that,” Louis assures him, and Harry listens like it’s a song, playing in the back of his head as he tries to steady his heartbeat.</p>
<p>When there’s no ropes tightening around his chest any longer, Harry manages to find his voice. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Louis shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” He says. A sympathetic smirk plays on his features as he continues to look at Harry. “Wipe the tears, lad. Not very professional of you.”</p>
<p>The investigator inhales deeply, and discovers a small chuckle hidden somewhere in his lungs, where maybe Louis had planted it. “It’s actually <em>very</em> professional, mind you.” Harry mumbles, and there’s relief washing over him. He looks behind Louis, at the haunted spot, and although it aches to see it, there’s a twinge of hope in his bloodstream.</p>
<p>“Want me to drive?” Louis asks after a moment of silence.</p>
<p>The taller man shakes his head, getting back onto his feet. “No, I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Once Harry begins to drive away, it feels like leaving a dome of sorrowful atmosphere behind. The miles between them and that place grow by the minute, although traces of grief still haunts the pair. Comfortable silence stills the air inside the car, and when Harry feels like he can breathe again without a fail, he speaks again.</p>
<p>“Thank you.” He whispers, tone appreciative and soft.</p>
<p>Louis’ response comes after a moment. “It’s alright.”</p>
<p>The detective’s tone is tender, unlike anything Harry has sensed ever since he stepped inside the city’s perimeters. There, in the warm presence of someone he’s growing to feel safe with, Harry loosens his grip on the steering wheel and allows himself to calm down. The mist that coats the town almost feels nice, then.</p>
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<p>The board exposed in his hotel room’s wall is growing familiar. Too familiar, Harry believes.</p>
<p>He despises the feeling, the sense of <em>knowing</em> what’s glued to the wall. It often comes with the sentiment of guilt and lack of direction. Glancing over the pictures, the red lines and random notes, Harry has an urge to tear everything down and start constructing the case from the start. Of course, that won’t offer any new leads, and he knows it.</p>
<p>Harry paces around with a cup of coffee on his hands and tangles of questions on his brain. Fixating his gaze on a picture of Claire’s brutalized torso, and feels his chest getting tighter. Seeing something he doesn’t like feels slightly less overwhelming than seeing nothing at all.</p>
<p>The afternoon is cold, and Louis has been absent since the morning. Harry almost misses the high tone of the detective’s voice, the rushed sounds of his footsteps echoing inside the room. That is, until the man himself appears.</p>
<p>Harry can hear him before he sees him; the detective pushes the door open and slams it shut with not much gentleness to his demeanor. When he looks up, Harry finds an annoyed, tightened expression on the man’s features.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Harry questions, his voice shallow and weak amid the gelid breeze that suddenly enters the room.</p>
<p>Louis sighs, shaking his head and throwing a folder on the desk, adding to the unorganized stacks that Harry has already made; now it’s a conjunction of both their messes.</p>
<p>“That <em>fuckin’</em> bastard,” Louis mutters.</p>
<p>“Who?” Harry asks further.</p>
<p>“Stan, who else?” The detective says. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing everywhere before he locks his eyes on Harry. “He won’t let me run the tire tracks on the station’s system.” Louis finally explains.</p>
<p>Harry frowns. “Why?”</p>
<p>“It’s a long story.” Louis sighs.</p>
<p>The investigator chuckles quietly to himself. “I heard that before.” Harry mumbles, watching silently as Louis sits on his desk and turns the chair around to look at the board on the wall. Maybe he too, is uncomfortable by how familiar it’s starting to look. “What’s going on between you two?” Harry quizzes.</p>
<p>Louis looks at him for a moment. His blue eyes are parted, tired, dark circles beginning to take form. “Remember when we met, he told you I used to work there at the station? Yeah, he <em>fuckin’</em> fired me, years ago. That’s why I left the city, in the first place.” The detective tells.</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t draw his gaze away from the man but finds himself picking at his own fingertips. “Why did he fire you?”</p>
<p>Louis sighs. “When he became the Sheriff, other officers were claiming that there was a conflict of interest between us. Because we’ve known each other since childhood, and, well, the officers weren’t so happy when I was promoted to Detective Chief Inspector.” He clarifies. Harry nods as he listens. “Basically, he gave into the pressure of other police officers and now there’s bad blood between us. He knew I had no other place to work in this city, there’s only one bloody station here, and so I left.”</p>
<p>The window rattles softly as another breeze threatens to come in. “When was that?” Harry asks.</p>
<p>“Six years ago. I only came back because of Claire’s case.” Louis says, quieter this time.</p>
<p>“Oh. I understand.” The investigator mumbles. Something in Louis’ tone shows he’s deeply hurt and affected by the case. It’s his city after all, and Harry can’t imagine the burden he must put upon himself when it comes to his hometown being threatened by a violent murderer.</p>
<p>“Now, being an idiot is more important than solving a brutal homicide, in his mind. But whatever, we’ll do this the old fashion way.” Louis speaks, standing up and grabbing his folders, his posture a little more determined. “I’ll go show these to the workers at the local car shop, maybe they will recognize these tires.”</p>
<p>Harry glances briefly over the developed photos. He can faintly spot the stains of tire tracks on the humid concrete, all almost too blurry and dark to identify. He’s suddenly glad Louis got this covered. “Doesn’t Thomas Hale’s father own a car shop?”</p>
<p>Louis nods. “Yeah, that’s where I’m going. I’ll ask some more questions while I’m at it.”</p>
<p>“Well, good luck, I’ll go over the leads for the hundredth time.” Harry says, pacing back around the single mattress and turning to the board.</p>
<p>Louis laughs, gentle and amused. “Don’t drive yourself mad. Oh, also, here,”</p>
<p>Harry looks towards the detective, finding him holding a photo. He reaches for the object, and when it’s in his fingertips, Harry discovers that he’s looking at a picture of himself, one that Louis had taken that morning, when they went to the crime scene together.</p>
<p>He’s smiling, one of his hands held out towards the camera. Harry cringes at how pale he looks, how his eyes are deepening into a fatigued expression. Still, he grins at the sight, remembering Louis’ amused smile behind the camera.</p>
<p>“Add that photo of <em>Investigator Styles</em> to the board. I heard he’s a real piece of work.” The detective jokes, making his way to exit the room.</p>
<p>Harry can’t help the laugh that escapes his throat. “Go away, Tomlinson.”</p>
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<p>The diner feels dislocated from the cities’ usual environment.</p>
<p>Jazz music plays faintly through the incredibly old jukebox, filling the atmosphere between costumers scattered across the open room. From where he’s seated, Harry can see the door to the kitchen, the in and out of waitresses, the light smoke that escapes through the gaps in the entrances.</p>
<p>Louis sits across from him, not bothering to look through the menu, but instantly making his order to the first server that passes beside them. Luckily, for Harry, Louis orders for them both, saving the clueless investigator from the work of reading the list of options and deciding what to eat.</p>
<p>It’s been a day and a half since the last lead, but it feels like an eternity of aimlessness. Now, as the night begins to darken the town’s skyline, the pair enjoys the muffled music that filters the incessant buzz in their minds, untying all the knots loosely, at least for a short while.</p>
<p>Harry can’t stay away from the subject, however. As soon as the waitress leaves their table with a polite smile, the investigator pulls out a folder from the inside of his briefcase. “The DNA results came back from the lab.” He tells, almost whispering.</p>
<p>Louis shoots him a glance, before fixating his surprised eyes on the folder at the surface of the diner table. “How did you get that?” The detective asks, immediately flipping through the results.</p>
<p>“Stan might hate you, but he’s still working with me on the County’s contract.” Harry informs.</p>
<p>The other man smiles shortly. “You’re my infiltrated part, then. What’s the conclusions?”</p>
<p>Harry shrugs, discontent with the outcome. “Well, turns out, the results were nothing that we didn’t assume. DNA evidence came positive for a male perpetrator, but when I ran it to the system, no profiles came up as a match.”</p>
<p>Louis closes the files after a moment, looking at the folder with an unsatisfied glance that doesn’t last long. Harry wonders how Louis manages to recover from the frustrations of the job so quickly. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous or such trait. “DNA evidence is still a test run in our field. I wasn’t expecting much, to be honest.” Louis concludes.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t either, but still, it’s another dead end for now.” Harry points out, putting the unhelpful files back in his briefcase.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it, we have a few other things to go over.” Louis assures.</p>
<p>Before either of them can say anything else, the waitress comes back with their orders on hand. Harry doesn’t identify it at first, but it’s certainly something greasy stuffed in slices of bread. Louis digs into his plate before Harry thanks the server, who walks away swiftly.</p>
<p>“How was it with the tire tracks lead?” Harry asks his partner.</p>
<p>Louis finishes his bite, answering as soon as he swallows. “About that. Mr. Hale says it’s most likely from a Ford Fiesta or a Ford Sierra, the models are quite similar.”</p>
<p>“And?” Harry prompts, curious.</p>
<p>“And it also happens to be the most used car in England right now. Ninety-five percent of the population has this type of vehicle.” The detective adds, much to Harry’s displeasure.</p>
<p>“Great. Another dead end.” He sighs. Harry ignores the irritating feeling in his stomach and focuses on his plate of food, taking bites in silence and locking his eyes on the circular patterns of the table’s woodwork.</p>
<p>“We won’t find anything right now, Harry. No evidence will pop out in this diner table, no matter how hard you look at it.” Louis’ voice echoes as muffled as the soft jazz that plays in the distance.</p>
<p>“I’m just frustrated.” Harry explains, glancing up to find Louis’ plate empty.</p>
<p>The detective grins, sympathetic as he leans back on his seat. “I know, I am too, but try to relax. Enjoy the food. This was my favorite diner growing up.”</p>
<p>Something in the mention of Louis’ past urges Harry forward. “How was it? Growing up here?” He quizzes, intrigued, enjoying the blissful distraction.</p>
<p>Louis smiles to himself at the memories that plays in his head. “As boring as you would imagine. All we had was parties in the abandoned gas stations and cheap cigarettes.”</p>
<p>“Sounds fun.”</p>
<p>Louis laughs. “It was until it wasn’t. I love my hometown, but this place, it drains you, not in the most positive way. I’m a bit glad that I was forced to move away and was able to take my mum with me. She used to have a hard time living here.”</p>
<p>Harry finishes his plate as Louis speaks. It’s something he didn’t know he would enjoy; hearing about Louis’ experience and life before all the dreadful circumstances that had brought them together.</p>
<p>“Where do you live now?” The investigator questions, bothered by the short silence coming from Louis.</p>
<p>“In Manchester. Not the coziest place but it worked out for the time being.” He responds. “Now, tell me, how’s London?”</p>
<p>Harry takes a moment before he gathers the adjectives he considers fitting to describe it. “Frantic, busy, noisy. As you would expect.” He tells, grinning as Louis does the same. “I can’t wait to move out of there.”</p>
<p>“Just make sure you don’t find yourself in a city like this one.” The shorter man mumbles, earning a short chuckle out of Harry.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’ll try.” Harry nods playfully, understanding then why that diner was Louis’ favorite place. It felt so far away from the scenario of the city, so distant from the gruesome truth that awaits outside, in the cold breeze. He yearns the soft, muffled jazz filling in the ambient as soon as he gets back on his totally silent hotel room. Perhaps, he even misses Louis’ voice, although his mind won’t admit it.</p>
<p>When the investigator wakes up the next morning, it’s to the sound of knocking on his door, and he immediately knows who it is by the rushed tone against the wood. Stumbling, Harry opens the door to reveal, unsurprisingly, Louis’ figure on the hallway. However, his blue eyes are hesitant, and his jaw clenches in wavering sensations that Harry is still too tired to recognize.</p>
<p>“What’s going on?” Harry asks, his voice rough from sleep.</p>
<p>He can see Louis swallowing a lump in his throat, almost as if holding back the words that exit his lips not long after. “Claire’s bag. They found it.”</p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Follow Where You Lead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind must be eternally cold and unmerciful in the place where Claire was murdered. Harry shudders as soon as he steps out of the car, and into the concrete road, now cursed by a mystery he’s in charge of solving.</p><p>Cop cars surround the edges of the large street, and where officers and photographers are gathered, just on the area where Claire’s body was found, is where Louis guides him to.</p><p>Harry can’t help the anxiety that rises through his veins. “Where is it?” He asks Louis, just to fill in the cold silence, and break the monotony of the ruffling of trees. Glancing at surprisingly warm blue eyes, the investigator finds his answer. Louis looks up, his gaze pointed, and Harry follows it with his own.</p><p>The light yellow bag is tied to a high branch of a tree, wavering like a flag at the unstoppable and haunted breeze. Another rush of adrenaline runs across his lungs, heating his chest as he paces faster towards the accumulation of people under the tree.</p><p>“Harry, wait,” Louis tries to say, but it goes unreached to Harry’s senses. The investigator carries on, noticing a few officers arriving with a ladder at the corner of his vision, on a mission to rescue the piece of lead missing from Claire’s items.</p><p>However, the attention of too many eyes seem to be aimed on a lower level, more specifically, on the tree’s trunk. Harry subconsciously pushes whoever is on the way, until his own stare meets it.</p><p>Carved deeply into the tree’s thick bark, are letters that form a two-word sentence; <em>Good luck.</em></p><p>His hands clench into balled fists immediately. If there’s something that Harry despises more than murderers and people that take advantage of innocent lives, is a murderer that toys with the possibility of getting caught; the perpetrator that finds pleasure in the chaos and grief they cause with their unspeakable acts of violence.</p><p>Time stands still for the solid minute that Harry spends standing in front of the carvings; he can barely hear the faint clicks of Louis’ analog camera capturing the image, nor he can feel the detective’s gentle fingers tangling on his coat and pulling him away slowly.</p><p>When he breathes again, now unrestrained by the vision of the murderer’s engraved words, he meets Louis’ expression. The shorter man looks slightly angry as well, although his concerns seem to be now fixated on Harry’s reaction to the scene.</p><p>“He’s playing with us.” Harry speaks, sucking in a gelid breath. “How did he even manage to put the bag there? And why?” He questions, feeling his voice being swallowed by the woods around them.</p><p>Louis shrugs, releasing his camera that hang around his neck. “I don’t know, but we will find out, I’ll tell you that.” He assures and Harry runs a nervous hand through his curls. “But I need you to breathe now, don’t work yourself up, it doesn’t help with anything.”</p><p>Harry knows it’s true, and it adds to his unease the fact that he can’t find himself to be in control of his emotions then; that the words of a homicidal man he’s chasing have such an effect on him. “That’s not something a random, inexperienced killer would do. That’s a psychopath’s behavior, and you know it. The way he’s toying with leads-“</p><p>“I know,” Louis agrees. “You’re right, but we need to collect ourselves or else we won’t be able to look through things clearly. You know that, too.”</p><p>Harry takes in another breath, wincing when he feels his lungs turn to ice, like the atmosphere that lingers there. It takes a second for him to feel grounded enough to speak again. “I want to look through that bag.” He expresses in a calmer tone.</p><p>Louis nods, sympathetically. Harry wonders how Louis manages to handle himself when it comes to the most annoying details of a case. He’s thankful that the detective is there along the way to bring him to his senses. “We will, they’ll have to send it to station for the reports first, but after that we’ll look through everything, alright? I even talked to Stan about it, if you can imagine.”</p><p>“Alright.” Harry grins weakly at the man’s reassuring words.</p><p>Louis takes a few more pictures, and Harry scribbles in his notebook to distract himself from the cold. He takes note about the knot used in the rope to tie the bag, also, the methods the killer must have used to place the lead in such a high spot, and at each observation, he feels his chest getting looser. It calms him to remember that he’s in a case, an ongoing dangerous situation in which he can’t afford to be distracted; not even by his own shaken mindset.</p><p>When the pair is done with their respective gatherings of the investigation, Louis starts the car and trails off, with Harry in the passenger seat. His green eyes are stuck in the road that surfaces ahead; the endless looking place that feels too damned to be in comfortably.</p><p>“I really don’t want this case to grow cold.” Harry whispers as soon as Louis reaches the street that leads to the cities’ center. It’s a narrow and crowded place, despite the small population. It reminds Harry of London’s neighborhoods, and as much as he dislikes the noisy capital, it’s nowhere near his aversion to the cold woods that stand around the town’s outskirts.</p><p>Louis shifts his gaze towards him for a moment. “It won’t. Not while we are working on it. We just got a new lead.” He tells the investigator. Harry’s mind aches in spiraling pondering and worry.</p><p>“Because of a psychopath’s choice to give it.” He argues.</p><p>He hears Louis’ sigh, shallow and short. “It’s still a lead.”</p><p>Harry gets dropped off at the hotel, and Louis offers him a kind grin with a hidden promise to come back as soon as he can, before driving away. The lonely and silent room grows smaller in Harry’s senses, as he paces around and looks through his board for the thousandth time, as he says it.</p><p>The unnervingly quiet rest of day is interrupted as soon as Harry reports the day’s occurrences back to his boss, in London. He tries to picture it; the rude and unnecessarily loud middle-aged man sitting in the comfort of his office, reading through case files and reports from his employees as if it’s a novel, a gory story, nothing else than letters printed in papers stacked in his desk.</p><p>The dissociation from reality that comes with the hierarchy of the justice system always bothered Harry, although it is out of his reach to solve it; he catches murderers and dangerous criminals, but can’t change the course of his work into something less profit-aimed, much to his dismay.</p><p>So, Harry is expecting the call that comes at the end of the evening, when the mist around the city is turning darker and colder. His boss doesn’t yell through the telephone this time, but his words speak loudly.</p><p>Harry goes to sleep with his mind locked in the past, his present silenced in numbness and fatigue, and the idea of the future worries him to the point of stealing away a few hours of sleep, making him toss around in the mattress, before he can eventually find peace in his tiredness.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The police station’s lab is quiet, overly-illuminated and every noise echo for what feels like a minute straight. Harry can hear the sounds of his plastic-gloved-hands running through the fabric of Claire’s clothes, the resonating zipper of the abandoned small <em>necessaire</em>, the singing of the keys that shift inside the thick plastic bag of evidence.</p><p>Going over the leads, Harry rests his hands on the surface of the lab’s table, his eyes growing tired at the bright lights and recognizable, ordinary objects. He reads the report made by the station the day prior, the analysis after the bag was found, but finds nothing promising or worth of interest.</p><p>“Care if I join?” A familiar voice resonates inside the expansive room, after a creaking door opens, and Harry jumps slightly at the collection of noises that break the stillness around him.</p><p>He looks up to find Louis’ figure stepping inside the room, his camera hanging from his neck and his eyes shining under the exaggerated white lights. “Oh, hi,” Harry greets, serenely. “Did you sneak in?”</p><p>Louis approaches with an amused grin. “Not this time. Stan actually let me through, if you can believe it. Maybe he’s not a dickhead, after all.” He chuckles, prompting his elbow on the lab’s examining table and glancing over the objects in front of Harry.</p><p>The investigator lets out a breathy laugh too. “Maybe not. Come on, there’s a lot to uncover here.” He adds, stepping aside to give space for Louis.</p><p>The detective takes pictures of the objects, one by one, and makes sure to flip each element so that he can capture all the sides and angles. Harry watches silently, making use of his gloved-hands to handle the objects as Louis photographs.</p><p>“Is that her wallet?” Louis asks, pointing at the pink wallet, thick and a bit dirty, underneath the thick plastic bag. Harry takes it, fights the urge to open it and look through every detail, before he recalls the lack of report on the item.</p><p>“Yeah, it hasn’t been examined through yet.” He responds, assumingly. He puts the wallet back down, making a mental note to dig more thoroughly into the element later on. “The contains are all very ordinary so far; clothes, toiletries, keys. My hope is in the DNA analysis. According to the reports done, there was blood in the handle of the bag, which has been taken for proper examination.” He adds.</p><p>Louis sighs softly, but it still echoes inside the lad. “It’s probably Claire’s blood, though.” He points.</p><p>“Yes, but I’m hoping that maybe there will be more to it. It is possible that the murderer got injured too, considering the amount of defensive wounds on Claire.” Harry recalls.</p><p>“She put up a fight, indeed.” Louis nods, clicking pictures of the wallet a few more times before he lets the camera hang in front of his chest. “Are you allowed to take this to the hotel?” He asks Harry.</p><p>“I don’t know, I haven’t asked yet.” The investigator sighs, frustrated, remembering the call he got the night before. “Not sure how long I’ll be able to stay, though.”</p><p>Louis frowns underneath the floodlit space. “What do you mean?” He asks, confused.</p><p>“My boss said that if no promising leads are found this week, I’ll have to leave town.” Harry informs. He begins to feel himself go dizzy, adding to the stress of all the circumstances that surround him.</p><p>“Why?” Louis presses.</p><p>“They won’t pay for my stay anymore and I’ll have to work the case from London.” He tells. “That’s why I’m scared of the case growing cold. I won’t be able to work properly from there and my reports will be thrown away like they always do with every case that has no leads after a month.”</p><p>There’s a silence that is accentuated by the lack of echo inside the lab. Harry watches Louis’ expression going from confusion, to frustration, to coated annoyance and resentment. “You can’t just <em>leave</em>,”</p><p>Harry breathes deeply. “It’s not under my control, Louis.” He says, hoping to put an end to the possibility of an argument there, as he puts the evidence back into the box.</p><p>Unfortunately, Louis doesn’t feel like he’s done. “Does your prick of a boss even care about the case? Just because it’s a small town in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean that people here don’t matter.” He claims, his tone growing angrier, and for Harry’s surprise, it also grows sadder.</p><p>When the evidence box is closed, Harry turns his frame around, finding a fire lighting up in Louis’ eyes. He remembers seeing it there, lodged into his sky-colored orbs, the same annoyance that Louis expressed the first time they met. “Why are you telling me this as if it’s my fault I’m being retracted back to London?” Harry asks, sensing his voice growing deeper.</p><p>Louis breathes and the response is immediate. “It’s not <em>your</em> fault! I’m just tired of seeing people not giving a shit about what happens here-“</p><p>“Quit talking to me like I’m guilty, then! I’m doing my best here!” Harry interrupts as a sharp pain spikes on the back of his head, a constant reminder of his everlasting stress.</p><p>There’s a silence again, and for a moment, Harry can swear he hears his own tone resonating in the room, bouncing off the walls until it fades into a monotone pitch. Harry doesn’t tear his gaze away from Louis as the shorter man paces and fidgets nervously with the strap of his camera. He looks like he’s considering something, but Harry doesn’t care enough to find out what exactly.</p><p>Finally, Louis’ voice breaks the silence. “I’ll be at the hotel by night. Take the evidence, if you can.” He says, softly. There’s not a trace of anger in his tone anymore, although his expression is still locked into a frown.</p><p>Harry doesn’t watch Louis walk out of the lab, but instead, gazes the impeccable white flooring until the door is closed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Louis ends up making up to his promise; when dusk is reigning the sky, there’s a knock on Harry’s room, and the investigator is certain that he had never felt so stressed to open a door to someone in his life.</p><p>“What?” Harry hisses as soon as his vision meets the sight of the detective.</p><p>“Gather your stuff.” Louis says, tone soft yet demanding.</p><p>Harry sighs, backing up to let the other man in. He hears Louis letting himself inside as he speaks. “A <em>sorry</em> would be nice, y’know.” He groans. “And what do you mean by that?”</p><p>From across the room, the single light by the bed illuminates Louis’ features, in the space where darkness takes over most of the room. Harry sits on the mattress, watching the man as he talks.</p><p>“They don’t need to pay for your stay anymore. You’re coming with me.” Louis announces, sticking his hands into the pockets of his coat, which Harry notices, is a bit too big to fit his frame.</p><p>Harry groans tiredly. “I don’t get it.”</p><p>“I’m staying at my childhood home since I got here. It’s old as shit and there’s mold everywhere but at least you won’t have a deadline for a place to sleep. Gather your stuff, yeah?” Louis says, in an ultimatum.</p><p>There’s a moment of silence, where Harry doesn’t know if Louis will carry on giving reasons for him to not leave town, or if he should yank an apology out of the detective for his behavior from earlier that day.</p><p>He decides to go with asking; “Why are you doing this?”</p><p>“I need to work this with you.” The detective tells, his tone growing gentle, as if a hidden apology lies within the space between his words. “Don’t want to be alone here.” Louis adds when Harry doesn’t respond immediately.</p><p>Half an hour later, the night has eaten away more light and swallowed all the warmth in the atmosphere, and Harry finds himself gathering his objects and clothing into his travelling luggage, his own mind questioning the reasons why he was going along with whatever the detective had suggested. Louis takes on the task to carefully put down the board Harry had worked over the course of the weeks he’s been working Claire’s case.</p><p>Silence is dense between them, and when the pair exits the room with nothing left behind, Harry doesn’t pay one last glance at the place. He checks-out and enters his car, Louis enters his own.</p><p>He follows the detective through the dark streets, driving around the empty areas. Harry shivers in the lonesome space of his vehicle, thinking about the possibility of the murdered he’s chasing being out and about during that hour. The city looks abandoned, a ghost-town eaten by yellowish lights and dusk.</p><p>His driving comes to a stop when Louis parks his car in front of a house, a rather large one, with big windows and a neglected front lawn. The place looks almost haunted under the night sky. Harry carry his bags, following Louis’ silent lead as they cross the yard and open the front door.</p><p>The lights are turned on, dimmed and weak after years of disuse, but it reaches all the corners of the expanse living room area, connected to what Harry supposes used to be a dining room, and an open hallway leading to a staircase that fades out into the dark.</p><p>“You made it sound like it was abandoned and in ruins,” Harry speaks, his low voice resonating inside the mostly empty spot. “It’s nice.” He adds.</p><p>Louis sighs softly, locking the door behind them. “If you’ve only seen how it looked before.” He responds.</p><p>Harry always finds himself intrigued in those places. Coming from a dysfunctional household, his mind is easily pulled into spaces like these, family homes and walls that still hold memories and stories of people like him, cradled between the torn wallpapers and layers of dust. He fights the urge to explore, to walk through the house and find all of its secrets. He wants to get to know the place where Louis grew up in.</p><p>While the investigator is still distracted, eyes roaming around the old house, Louis takes Harry’s bag into his grasp and walks towards the staircase, leading Harry with him. “I cleaned a room upstairs; you can take it. This living room is quite spacious, so I think we could work here.” He announces, earning an approving hum from Harry, before they go up the stairs.</p><p>Another large corridor lights up as Louis flicks a dusty switch on the wall, and the yellow, flickering lightbulb illuminates the space. Four doors decorate the walls of the hallway, and Louis places Harry’s bag in front of the last one, on the right.</p><p>“The bathroom is here, right in front of your door.” Louis tells, gesturing to the parted bathroom’s entrance in front of Harry’s new temporary room. “I’ll go fix something for us to eat while you’re at it, yeah?” He adds, offering Harry a tired, faded grin.</p><p>“Alright.” The investigator matches the expression, smirking as Louis disappears down the stairs</p><p>Once alone, Harry clicks the door open, palming through the wall beside the door to look for a switch. When he flickers the light on, it reveals a clean room, a single bed pushed on a wall, a nightstand, a drawer on the opposite wall and a big window, covered by a sheer beige curtain that seem to invite the nightly darkness inside.</p><p>He attempts to unpack his clothes briefly but decides to leave it to tomorrow due to the weariness seeping on his bones. Sitting on the small mattress, he focuses on his breathing for a moment, and hears the sounds of the breeze outside to maintain his mind from racing, before a thousand worries can run through his head.</p><p>Some time pass, but he doesn’t mind checking it. For the first time in days, he’s relaxed, feeling the scent of an old house, but also sensing the lavender-scented cleaning supplies Louis must have used to sanitize the room, just for Harry’s stay. He smiles at the flooring, appreciatively, and feels incredibly lighthearted by the fact that he’s even managing to feel gratefulness, giving the circumstances that surround him.</p><p>In the short silence, Harry hears muffled footsteps coming up the stairs, brief and rushed, and he holds his eyes on the parted door until Louis’ figure peaks through.</p><p>“Hey,” Harry speaks first. Louis steps inside, almost carefully, and glances around with a contained grin. Harry wonders whose room it used to be back then, if he had any interesting stories to tell about it.</p><p>Instead of feeding to any of Harry’s silent curiosity, the detective leans against the wall in front of the bed, facing Harry. “Did you bring the evidence with you?” He questions, biting his lip.</p><p>Harry nods and responds; “Yes, it’s in my car. Figured we could look through, properly this time.” </p><p>“That’s great.” Louis smirks shortly, satisfied with the reply, but something in his expression cuts that reaction short. Harry watches his throat shifting as he swallows around nothing, and his lips part as if he’s trying to speak words that are lodged in the back of his teeth. “Harry, I’m sorry. I was unnecessarily mean to you, <em>again</em>.” He manages to say, and his tone is kind, sincere.</p><p>A smile creeps on Harry’s face, and he bites the inside of his cheek subconsciously, to stop his dimples from popping. “It’s fine. I was angry too. I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow, but I’m sure he won’t mind now that I’m here. He just cares a lot about spending money on investigations. So, you were right. He is kind of a prick.” Harry explains.</p><p>Louis absorbs the words with relief in his eyes, and he lets out a breathy chuckle that fills the room for a second. Then, he glances at Harry, and the investigator can almost feel the warmth of his tone. “You can stay as long as you need. I won’t be coming back to Manchester until Claire’s murderer is found, anyway.”</p><p>“Me neither.” He tells, shortly.</p><p>Blue eyes wave around the room, but green ones are fixated, locked in Louis’ structure. “What do you think of the room?” Louis asks, pacing towards the center of the room, mindlessly.</p><p>“Cozy, clean, a bit cold. Three stars, so far.” Harry laughs.</p><p>“Wouldn’t you know, it’s luxurious.” Louis states with a smile, and Harry can almost visualize the kindness that lives deep inside Louis’ heart, coated by so many stories and experiences. Harry can’t help but feel the urge to know about it all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Aside from having a good night of sleep in a comfortable bed, Harry gets a positive answer from his boss when he announces his prolonged stay in the small town, early in the morning.</p><p>He has a good feeling about the day that’s about to unfold, a sensation he doesn’t hesitate to bring to the table when he has the first decent breakfast in weeks, one that isn’t only a cup of lukewarm coffee and a piece of toast from the hotel. Louis prepares a good meal for the both of them; in the kitchen he grew up in. Although the cabinets are empty and the stove barely works without faltering every few minutes, he manages to prepare their stomachs well for the day ahead.</p><p>Before noon, Harry manages to bring his materials and all that he has gathered those last few weeks and rearrange a large investigation board on the living room’s wall, right where the sunlight shines through the big windows.</p><p>When he’s finished, he brings out the evidence box from his car, and puts it on display on the old dining table. Claire’s objects are all laid out, but one is still sealed underneath the protection of the thick evidence bag.</p><p>“I’m planning on going through Claire’s wallet,” Harry announces at lunchtime, when Louis pops by the living room to peep the newly organized board. “Feel free to join in.” The investigator adds, and the detective doesn’t hesitate to accompany him.</p><p>Louis stands by the dining table with his camera on his neck, flickering the buttons as he works the film and waits for Harry to start unfolding Claire’s belongings.</p><p>With gloved hands, he opens the bag and pulls out the pink wallet, placing it on the covered surface of the table to start. Louis photographs the process silently as Harry continues to investigate; he takes out a credit card, a couple crumpled bills, a picture of Claire herself with her friends, probably taken on photo booth, and a few shopping receipts.</p><p>Harry puts everything on display, even turns the wallet inside out, and steps back to let Louis register everything with his analog, boxy camera that he never seems to strain too far away from. “Do your thing.” Harry mutters, before Louis starts snapping pictures with an amused grin behind the lenses.</p><p>He finds himself watching quietly as the detective works, somehow lost within Louis’ careful movements around the evidence; his mind gets tangled in the way Louis twitches his fingers in the camera’s buttons, how he maneuvers the object with skill and familiarity. Harry wants to know how Louis got into photography; he wants to flick through every picture he had taken throughout his life and hold in every sight Louis had witnessed and photographed.</p><p>It’s an unusual feeling for Harry; to be curious about a living person. He’s so used to chasing information from the deceased, just like he’s doing then with Claire. The investigator has made his purpose in life to pursue the story of people that are no longer able to do so themselves. And yet, Louis brings this inquisitiveness out on him.</p><p>Harry rationalizes the feeling by concluding that he’s only intrigued by Louis giving the place he’s staying. It’s hard not to question everything, when everything around him then screams Louis’ name.</p><p>“I’m done,” The detective announces, pulling Harry out of his momentary contemplation. “I’ll develop those soon and you can add to the board. I know you’re passionate about that thing,” Louis jokes, smiling eyes turning towards Harry.</p><p>The investigator smiles too, laughing shortly before his mind drifts back to the place of curiosity. “You develop them yourself?”</p><p>Louis’ smirk falters; he bites his lip. “Yeah, I turned the old storage room into a dark-room, recently. It’s been useful.” He tells.</p><p>“Can I see it?” Harry asks before he can contain himself. Just as the sunlight sharpens in the living room, Louis nods timidly and gestures for Harry to follow him.</p><p>The investigator does so, trailing behind the shorter man with interest thrumming in his veins. The said storage room sits on a narrow, short corridor on the back of the kitchen and next to what Harry assumes is an old laundry room. There’s empty cans of black paint on the floor next to it and other supplies that show Louis’ recent remodeling of the room.</p><p>Without hesitation, the detective cracks the door open, and Harry enters after Louis to find himself in wonder and highly aware by the small space. When Louis closes the door, a red light flickers awake, and paints the black walls in tones of crimson and dark maroon.</p><p>The equipment for developing take most of the space inside, but photographs hanging on strings brush against the top of Harry’s head as he paces inside. He grins when he looks up to catch sight of the pictures; different themes are portrayed in the developed films; a few that Harry recognizes, from the case, pictures of the woods surrounding the crime scene, and others that he doesn’t identify instantly.</p><p>Images of bushes, plants, even animals and sceneries, some of the city, and some of fields that Harry can only wish to see in person. “It’s fascinating,” Harry comments under his breath, but the room is small enough for Louis to hear, although he doesn’t react audibly. “These are nice. Didn’t know you took for fun, as well.” Harry adds, finally.</p><p>Only then, Louis chuckles softly. “Well, I needed a hobbie, other than inserting myself into investigations that aren’t mine.” He jokes.</p><p>Harry turns to look at the detective, finding his usually sharp features turning even more predominant underneath the rouge lighting. “That’s not a hobbie for you, you’re a professional at it.” The investigator teases back, earning a large smile from Louis.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a compliment, Styles.” He says.</p><p>Once again, Harry finds himself in complete inquisitiveness towards the man standing in front of him. Something in the way he looks at everything around him, as if all hold secrets, questions that he promptly will look for answers. His eyes are always catching things, glancing with interest, and it makes so much sense that he’s into photography, for he can secure sights forever in a picture.</p><p>It becomes so easy to imagine Louis turning an old room at his childhood home into something so exquisite, that requires skill and knowledge, to follow up with a search for answers and justice that he’s clearly enthusiastic about. Harry can’t believe that one day, weeks ago, he had seen the man as cold and distant, completely lacking empathy, when in reality, he’s discovering, at every passing day, that Louis may be the most understanding and passionate person he’s ever met.</p><p>Harry’s thoughts are interrupted by, quite literally, darkness. The lights shut off; in a split second everything turns into nothing, swallowed by the deepest shadows.</p><p>“Shit,” Louis curses under his breath, voice lost withing the small space.</p><p>Harry’s eyes blink and search for anything visible, but it’s useless. “What happened?” He questions.</p><p>“The light detector deactivates completely every couple of minutes.” Louis explains. “I set it like that to avoid burning the films in case I forget the lights on. Don’t worry, it will detect our movement in a few.”</p><p>Harry nods within the shadows, feeling relief wash over his bloodstream. He palms through the darkness. “Where are you?” He calls, somewhat lost in the lightless space.</p><p>“Right here.” Louis responds, voice soft in the sharp dusk. “I’ve got you.” He whispers, finally.</p><p>Harry feels it before he recognizes it; a touch so delicate meets his skin. Louis’ fingers wrap around his wrist gently, barely grabbing at all, and it’s warm despite the overall cold that usually takes over the city. Harry shivers, unused to the feeling that takes over his skin, the softness of it, the cradling tenderness in which his wrist bones rest for no more than a few seconds. Harry stretches his fingers and feels the skin of Louis’ forearm within his reach, as warm as his palms.</p><p>And, like the detective said, the lights soon are flickering awake, and the crimson tones reign in the space again. Harry catches a brief sight of Louis’ hand circling his wrist, and his own fingertips grazing over Louis’ skin., before they both pull away almost instantly.</p><p>Harry fights the sudden overwhelm that takes over his lungs, the feeling of invading a space that isn’t his to be in, but he swallows it down his throat, like the shivers caused by their unplanned touching.</p><p>“It’s nice to see you again, <em>investigator</em>,” Louis says with a playful, teasing smirk, and cracks the door open for both of them to leave.</p><p>Harry smiles in return, all worries leaving his mind in an instant, and something sweet catches on the edge of his laugh, as if he chuckles with purpose now; as if there’s intent in knowing Louis.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When another day rolls around, Louis takes on the task to develop the photos he had taken that week, spending most of the day in the dark-room, while Harry sits in the living room, going over the contents of Claire’s bag one last time, before he has to take it back to the station.</p><p>The investigator goes through the clothes again, and he almost memorizes the details of everything she had in her possession at the time of her death; the light-material of her pajamas, a coffee-stained jacket, a few t-shirts and then her wallet.</p><p>This time, Harry takes his time on the wallet, instead of focusing on the superficial descriptions of it, only to fulfill a report to send back to his boss. He glances over the credit card and takes notes on her bank information to search for possible usage of her account that might lead to a suspect.</p><p>Then, he feels his heart pouring with what feels like sorrow; the picture of Claire and her friends. By the large smiles on the photo, Harry can visualize the moment it was taken; a group of youthful teenagers cramped in the small space of a photo booth, where they pose and laugh harmlessly. It makes everything even more real, to see her alive, smiling. The picture feels like a dislocated object in the harsh reality in which her fate was terribly interrupted.</p><p>He takes one last look before putting it back inside the wallet carefully, hoping that after this is all done, he can give those pictures to Claire’s mother, to bring some sort of joy to what remained of her family.</p><p>Green eyes then turn to bring attention to the shopping receipts. Some are faded, hard to read, and to be honest, seem to be from too long ago to be of importance to the case. Still, Harry lines every receipt in chronological order as he reads them, and soon there’s a line of three receipts from random places, from at least four months prior to her death, and then there’s two that make the final line.</p><p>The penultimate one is from January, a bit faded already, but then, the last one is looks like it had been recently printed, the letters and receipt information are dark and clear against the thin paper. When Harry reads it, carefully and slowly, he shivers when he reaches the date of issue; <em>February, the 16<sup>th</sup>.</em></p><p>It’s the date of her murder that stamps the receipt.</p><p>Harry glances further down the paper, and finds another information that makes his heart shudder, in the way it usually does when he finds a possible promising clue. On the hour of the purchase, it reads; <em>11:44pm.</em></p><p>It proves that Claire was alive before midnight, and that the receipt had probably been emitted at least half an hour before her killer got to her.</p><p>Harry calls out for Louis, who comes in rushing to the living room, and when he shows Louis the lead, blue eyes shimmer with hope. “Harry, 11:44pm is too close to her death. Whoever she was with, must have been the last person to see her alive, possibly even the murderer.” Louis exclaims, excited over the important clue.</p><p>“I agree. Should we take this information to the station and see what we can do from there? It would be helpful to pair up with the police, at this point.” He states, but Louis raises his hand briefly.</p><p>“Wait,” He mutters. “What’s the location in the receipt?”</p><p>Harry ogles the delicate paper, lips twitching as he searches, almost frantically, for the bit of evidence. “The address number is 43, on the South Road.” Harry offers. “The South Road, that’s where she was murdered.”</p><p>Louis closes his eyes, grimacing and pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he’s trying to remember something. Harry waits until there’s recognition coating the detective’s expression. “I know that place, it’s a gas station, the only one on the South Road, and-“ Louis pauses, his mouth parting softly as his words fade into silence.</p><p>“What?” Harry requires, his tone shaking in anticipation.</p><p>“Harry,” Louis calls and glances upwards, fixating his attentive gaze on Harry’s. “I think I know who the suspect may be.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Into Your Darkest Hour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Louis flickers through the files in his hands, under Harry’s careful stare. Across them, the thick glass offers a vision of the interrogation room, where the suspect sits awaiting.</p><p>“Does he have any felonies?” Harry asks, although the dark look on the suspect’s eyes already answer him; also, it’s in the manner in which he remains there, too calm and collected to be his first time.</p><p>Louis sighs as he stops flipping through the papers in his hold, where an old picture of the suspect’s mugshot stamps the page that flashes Harry’s gaze.</p><p>“He’s a real piece of work in this town. Everybody knows him and knows to stay away from him.” Louis tells. “When I was a teenager, he was charged for several sexual assault incidents, robbery, and violent behavior, in general. He was arrested for a major part of the time I lived here. After I started working at the station, I detained him once.”</p><p>Harry swallows the lump in his dry throat as he takes the files from Louis’ hands, but his heart barely recognizes at the lingering touch of the detective’s fingertips on his knuckles. His mind is too focused on the words that cover the files, and his veins are overflowing with that thrill he usually enjoys; the excitement of having a name to fill in the blanks of a crime, or at least, to fill the blanks in a list of persons of interest.</p><p>The man’s name is Daniel Wilson, a forty-something year-old person that lived most of his life in prison, running from the law, and breaking it. In his list of felonies, Harry can confirm what Louis tells him. Generally, a violent man with the capability of murdering a young girl in the silence of the night.</p><p>“He has been interrogated before, so, be mindful of that when you ask questions.” Louis advises once Harry has the files closed and locked within his grip.</p><p>The investigator grabs the files from Claire’s case, and sighs before he decides the façade he’ll put up to interact with Daniel. “Alright.” Harry breathes, grinning at Louis one last time before he twists the knob to the interrogation room.</p><p>Daniel’s eyes travel straight to his figure, firm and sinister. Harry is contented at himself when he doesn’t shiver nor demonstrates any sight of hesitation as he moves towards the table where the suspect sits, the clacking of his shoes echoing inside the place.</p><p>“Good evening.” Harry greets politely, taking a seat across from the man, who leans back on his seat almost in amusement. “How are you, Mr. Wilson?”</p><p>“Great.” Daniel shortly offers. His voice is hoarse, scarred by decade’s worth of tobacco, Harry assumes. “How long will this take? I need to get back to work.”</p><p>Harry ignores the man’s question as he takes his audio-recording device from his jacket and turns it on.</p><p>It’s ironic, really, how Harry feels as if sometimes, he can’t interact with most people without being awkward or exaggeratedly polite, and yet, he knows exactly how to act in front of the most insane and dangerous criminals.</p><p>Methods of interrogation are extensive, and they’re all listed in Harry’s brain. He always liked the welcoming approach when questioning someone; leaving the suspect under the impression that he’s a friend, someone they can trust. Usually, it’s easy to get a confession using this method, but Harry can tell that this won’t be Daniel’s case. The man knows the in-and-outs of this process, knows the sides of the law and has been in similar positions, if not worst.</p><p>So, Harry knows that this interrogation in particular, will be constructed in demonstrations of power and control. Daniel won’t break if he doesn’t genuinely believe Harry has the power to hold him guilty.</p><p>When the tape starts registering and the red flickering light turns on, Harry places the device on the surface of the table. Daniel’s gaze catches the object quickly, but soon, he fixates his eyes on Harry again, apprehension lacking in his features.</p><p>“This is investigator Harry Styles, the current date is March 18<sup>th</sup>, 1992. First and only suspect so far on Claire Denholm’s case, registering,” Harry speaks, loud and clear for the device to catch, and for Daniel to consume his strong tone. “Please, state your date of birth.”</p><p>“October 20<sup>th</sup>, 1950.” The suspect swallows shallowly and doesn’t break eye contact as he speaks.</p><p>“State your name.” Harry orders.</p><p>“Daniel Wilson.” He responds. “But my friends call me Dan.”</p><p>Harry can’t help the twisted feeling in his gut when Daniel smirks. His attempts of looking right through Harry and breaking his demeanor fail, and Harry makes it his mission to continue proving him wrong until the ordeal is over. “I ain’t your friend.” The investigator asserts firmly. “Do you know why you’re here?”</p><p>Daniel bites the inside of his cheek, annoyed. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Tell me, then.” Harry questions, although his tone is of demand.</p><p>“It’s because of that <em>Claire</em> girl.” Daniel responds. Harry notices how he says Claire’s name like it’s a curse, as if the word tastes bitter on his mouth. “You think I did it.”</p><p>“Do I?” Harry teases. “Why do you think that?”</p><p>Daniel has blue eyes, much like Louis’, but they’re cold and almost grey. The purple tones under his waterline add to the obscurity that lies within the sharpness of his slender, pale features. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” He responds, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>“Did you know Claire Denholm?” The investigator asks. Daniel shakes his head. “State your answers audibly.” Harry commands once again, noticing how Daniel shifts in his seat uncomfortable when he’s given an order.</p><p>“No, I didn’t.” He says finally.</p><p>“Did you ever interact with Claire Denholm?”</p><p>The suspect shrugs. “No.”</p><p>Harry fights the urge to smirk, maintaining the seriousness in his face when he realizes he’s caught Daniel on his first lie. “You work as a cashier at the South Road gas station on the night shift, is that correct?”</p><p>“Yes.” He confirms.</p><p>Harry breaks the eye contact for the first time, to open the files in front of him and show Daniel the receipt they’ve found on Claire’s wallet, wrapped in plastic. “This is a shopping receipt from the address of your workplace, Mr. Wilson.” Harry tells. “The time of purchase tells that Claire was present at the gas station, during your shift.”</p><p>He doesn’t go much further than that, allowing Daniel to make the connections himself. Sometimes, during those moments, the suspects ends up letting out more clues than Harry has, and that sums up the purpose of interrogations; to retract information from the suspects, without letting them know they’re giving useful and compromising evidence.</p><p>Harry catches Daniel’s eyes glancing over Claire’s picture, one of her alive and smiling, pinned to the corner of the file. “She might’ve been a costumer, yeah.” He shrugs.</p><p>“So, you <em>did </em>interact with her.” Harry concludes.</p><p>Daniel blinks after a moment. “Maybe. I didn’t know it was her.”</p><p>“You did know the reason you were brought here. How did you know this was about Claire?” Harry asks, wanting to expose a raw nerve that may exist somewhere in Daniel’s consciousness.</p><p>The suspect scoffs, anger suddenly coating his features. Harry remains leaned back while Daniel shifts and jumps in his seat. “Cause’ it’s all over the newspaper. It’s why there’s a prick from the capital prodding around in <em>my town</em>.”</p><p>For the first time during the interrogation, Harry flashes a smirk in Daniel’s direction. It’s harmless, one of true amusement just to make Daniel’s blood boil, and that’s exactly what Harry conquers, judging by the look of pure irritation in the suspects’ eyes. “It’s funny that you say that, Mr. Wilson. People from <em>your town</em> have very harsh opinions about you.”</p><p>Daniel swallows his ire, leaning back. “I’ve paid for my mistakes, already.” He says, darting his gaze around, avoiding Harry.</p><p>The investigator takes it as a small victory on the race for the truth, and flickers through the pages of Daniel’s files, reading quickly over a few facts. “You <em>are</em> paying, indeed. Six years incarcerated, plus thirteen years of community service. And you’re still on bail, correct?”</p><p>“Yes.” Daniel confirms.</p><p>Harry waits a moment after that. Silence is usually felt as uncomfortable, and the urge to fill it is always there, so they talk. Daniel doesn’t speak, and Harry accepts that he won’t give him the answers he wants with silence, giving his experience with interrogations.</p><p>He drags the files down to his lap, removing any visual sign of the case from Daniel’s point of view, and asks; “You know how this works, then. Tell me, where were you at the time of Claire’s death?”</p><p>The ire returns to his features in a second, and Harry understands now why the man’s crimes are violence-driven. “Obviously, at work. I don’t know why I’m being pulled into this!”</p><p>“You are the last known person to see her before she died.” Harry informs, his tone matter-of-fact, leaving no space for questions. It’s the truth Harry has so far, and although it bothers him that he depends on Daniel’s perspective from this point on, he doesn’t let it show.</p><p>“I didn’t do it!” Daniel states, banging his hand on the surface of the table.</p><p>It doesn’t startle Harry, who has been waiting for a physical outburst of anger, judging by the man’s reputation. “You’ll have no problem allowing us to collect DNA from you then, right?” The investigator says, managing to successfully place the man’s guilt or innocence in between the lines of his answer to the question.</p><p>Daniel hesitates for a moment but recovers quickly. “Right. You can have it.”</p><p>Harry smirks shallowly again and leaves the room after retracting the audio-recording device from the surface of the table and turning it off.</p><p>Louis meets him in the corridor outside, uncertainty and a twinge of anxiety in his features. “How was it?” He asks Harry in a rushed breath.</p><p>Harry sighs, feeling his shoulders slump now that he’s out of the suspects’ vision. “He’s absolutely sketchy, but I’m not sure if he’s involved, at least not for now.” He informs, his words washed in slight defeat. “He agreed to give DNA, so I’ll grab the supplies to collect it, in a minute.”</p><p>“I can collect it. It will be best, to have both of us in there. He won’t mind a bit of overcrowding.” Louis offers, and Harry easily accepts it with a grin. “How’s the body language, so far?”</p><p>“His guard is up, and he’s angry. Nothing strong that indicates strong deception, yet.” The investigator tells.</p><p>“Want to try analyzed exposure?” Louis suggests and Harry’s interest peaks, suddenly reminding of the method. “Show pictures of Claire and the crime scene, see how he reacts. I’ll grab the supplies. Meet you there?”</p><p>“Sure.” Harry agrees and they part ways while the investigator grabs some water and a quick coffee, allowing time to consume Daniel while his loneliness forces him to think to himself. Harry returns to the interrogation room with trembling fingers but contains his nerves once he’s seated in front of the suspect. He turns the recording device again, places it on the table, and moves to open the files in his grip.</p><p>It’s a silent way of interrogation and analyzing the suspect’s body language. He puts pictures of Claire in display in front of Daniel, the first one being of her alive where she’s smiling. Daniel leans forward and glances at the photograph but reacts almost indifferent.</p><p>Then, Harry shows a second image; it’s a wide shot of the crime scene, where police cars can be seem pulled over on the side of the road, the woods are dark and dense around the rims of the picture, and there’s a gathering of cops and forensics workers around a yellow crime-scene tape.</p><p>Harry’s goal is to walk Daniel through the crime, as if they were there when it happened, and see if the suspect reacts euphorically or overly nervous. Daniel upholds his eyes on the photo, and Harry watches quietly as he swallows around nothing.</p><p>The third picture is one of Claire’s body, taken from a few feet away, her entire body and the brutality that had been committed on her can be explicitly seen. Daniel’s eyelids twitch, and he barely flinches, but there’s a wince hidden in the back of his teeth.</p><p>The fourth photograph is the one of her torso, taken closely, picturing the cuts and bruises in her skin. Daniel leans back, starting to look uncomfortable.</p><p>The last one that Harry decides to show, is one of her lifeless face, completely unharmed, forever peaceful, if it wasn’t the circumstances. It’s the one that makes Daniel look away.</p><p>“She was only eighteen, had a whole life ahead of her, and she was utterly loved by her friends and family.” Harry speaks, feeling his own tone filling with the grief that won’t go away, no matter how much he works on her case, how much time passes. “She’s deceased, murdered, and the person that did this, is still out there, living, breathing like the coward they are.”</p><p>Daniel reacts to the words with a coated ire, but Harry doesn’t know if it’s from a relatable point of view, similar to his own, or if he’s offended by the way Harry is speaking about the murderer.</p><p>Either way, Harry doesn’t have time to make that conclusion. Louis creaks the door open behind him, and Harry can sense his friend’s firm presence in the room, how he confidently enters, closes the door, and approaches.</p><p>Then, Daniel demeanor changes. His angry blue eyes shift towards fear and hesitation when he looks behind Harry, and the investigator doesn’t pay a single glance to Louis, but watches Daniel’s lips twitch as he stutters; “T-Tomlinson,”</p><p>“Daniel, long time no see.” Louis says, and Harry gazes through Daniel’s features as he listens to Louis’ voice resonate inside the room, strong and deep. “How have you been doing, since the last time I saw you?”</p><p>Daniel swallows, and his eyes are everywhere now, from Louis to Harry, to the floor and the ceiling. “Nothing special.” He tries to say confidently but fails as his breathing hitches. It’s subtle, the way Harry can catch Daniel’s minor demonstrations of hesitation and anxiety. It’s the most Daniel has reacted to anything at all, since the start of the interrogation.</p><p>“Alright. I’ll collect some DNA from you, have you done this before?” Louis asks, although they all know the answer. DNA evidence had been recently accepted into ways of crime investigation and forensics, and it’s nothing that Daniel had to endure back then when he committed his crimes.</p><p>So, the suspect shakes his head, and glues his vision of Louis’ hands as he fumbles with the collecting kit. “It’s quick and painless. I will place the tip of this swab on the inside of your cheek and that’s all.” Louis explains as he puts on gloves and opens the sealed packaging of the swab.</p><p>The detective proceeds to extract Daniel’s DNA, all while the man looks hesitant, and almost incredulous. It’s getting to the point of leaving Harry curious to know if there’s something that may have happened in between the two that he isn’t aware of. It wouldn’t have been the first time; not after what he witnessed between Stan and Louis, and how he’s been caught up between the pair’s petty disagreements.</p><p>Harry shoves his own personal thoughts and questions aside and focuses back on the constant analysis of Daniel’s demeanor and behavior. The violence is almost gone, coated, hidden behind his glassy eyes, and now what remains is the shell of a broken soul that never got to see the easy sides of life.</p><p>“All done. Thank you.” Louis says shortly and exits the room as soon as he entered.</p><p>“You’re working with him?” Daniel asks frantically as soon as Louis closes the door behind him.</p><p>Harry glances at him, thinking of using the man’s unclear feelings against him. However, Harry knows it won’t be of use. He can’t put the course of the investigation on a criminal’s senses. “Yes, we’re working together on this case.”</p><p>Daniel opens his mouth to say something but stops himself for a moment. He finally speaks after silence has reign in the room and he has nothing to do but to hold the stare of Harry’s insistent, deep green eyes. “Am I arrested?”</p><p>“Not for now, at least. You’re free to go.” Harry announces, standing up before Daniel has a chance to do it first. “However, you’re not allowed to leave town, the requirements of your bail are still active, and until this investigation is operating or until you have been ruled out as a person of interest, you are obligated to respond to law enforcement calls, or else you’ll be treated as a fugitive. Understood?”</p><p>Daniel shifts in his seat, visibly anxious to leave. “Yes.”</p><p>“Do you have any other questions for me?” Harry asks, gathering his files.</p><p>“No.” He mutters.</p><p>The investigator sighs relived and frustrated, in a way. He flashes a genuine grin and finally says; “Very well. Have a good day, Mr. Wilson.”</p><p>Harry walks aimlessly through the hallways of the station after that, looking for a breath of relief somewhere, but failing after his heart refuses to stop beating overly rapid in his chest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mere hours after the interrogation that leaves Harry with a bitter taste in the back of his throat, he finds himself seated in the passenger seat of Louis’ car, while the detective drives through the South Road.</p><p>The place around him doesn’t help with the growing anxious sensation in his gut. The dark woods seem to pull him into that head-space of dread and grief, no matter how many times he has to go back there. Instead of focusing on the haunted space he’s in, Harry turns his attention to his closer surroundings.</p><p>He steals a few glances at Louis, who has his fingers tightly grasping the steering wheel, and eyes firmly glued to the road. His jaw is clenched shut, and the muscles in his neck move whenever he peeks at the woods around them. Harry has a strong feeling that Louis feels the same way in that place as he does.</p><p>“Can I ask you something?” Harry mutters, voice barely a mumble under the tense atmosphere.</p><p>Louis looks at him briefly, and his eyes are soft, despite his strained mandible. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Why did Daniel seem to be afraid of you?” The investigator questions, and it’s so different from the tone and wording he uses in the interrogation room. It’s moment like there where Harry finds himself unable to communicate properly. After years studying to find deception and violent actions behind words, Harry struggles to find the simplest of positive feelings behind anything and anyone.</p><p>He watches Louis’ face twist and his head tilt as his mind searches for an answer. “I detained him a few years back, like I told you. It led to one of his long arrests, so, I’d assume that’s why.” The detective replies shortly.</p><p>It’s not the reply Harry was looking for, and it still leaves space for questioning, but he brushes it aside. They’re close now, Harry can see the gas station on the line of the horizon, and it continues to approach his vision until Louis is pulling over on the side of the road.</p><p>The place itself looks lonely and almost abandoned. Surrounded by tall trees and dirt tracks on the sides of the concrete, Harry and Louis pace towards the place, now empty and closed by the owner after Daniel’s rise in the list of suspicion.</p><p>“Do you have the keys?” Harry asks, but doesn’t need to hear the answer from Louis’ voice as a set of keys clash and clink in the detective’s pocket when he reaches for it. The owner of the gas station has given permission to search through the place, luckily for them.</p><p>Louis walks ahead and busies himself with unlocking the small convenience store at the back of the station, while Harry stumbles through the gas pumps and gazes anywhere his vision can grasp. He visualizes Claire there, spending the last moments of her life making a simple purchase and pumping gas on her vehicle.</p><p>Harry gets a tingling urge to go back in time and stand there that night until she appears, and he can tell her to leave, to drive the other way and go back home. Obviously, he isn’t capable of doing such thing, so he stands frustrated and sorrowful, glancing at the road that once watched a young girl lose her life.</p><p>“Hazza!”</p><p>Harry hears the call echoing through the tall ceiling above him. He turns to find Louis, awaiting next to the store’s parted entrance. He approaches, a grin playing in his features. “That’s a new one.” The investigator speaks through his smile.</p><p>“What?” Louis asks, putting the keys back in his pocket.</p><p>“Hazza.” Harry explains.</p><p>“Oh,” Louis’ expression fills with a faint blush that Harry barely takes notice of.  </p><p>The light bulbs inside the store abruptly turn on, triggered by the motion sensor as they step inside. It cuts the moment short as it bathes the place in a yellowish light as the pair travels their gazes through the space, looking for nothing in particular.</p><p>“I’ll check the back rooms.” Louis announces, already pacing hurriedly to the back of the store, where a few doors remain shut. “Shout if you find anything.” He says before disappearing behind shelves.</p><p>“Alright.” Harry mutters to himself, stepping aimlessly in the small maze of products and condiments. He feels as if he's playing with luck, hoping to find anything that may be of significance for the case.</p><p>It brings him the sensation he despises in moments like these; feeling like he’s wasting his time, counting on a brief second in which he may or may not identify something important in a corner somewhere. Still, it’s his job and he focus on every detail, ignoring the eerie reminder that he’s putting himself in Claire’s last steps before her brutal ending. He looks through labels, products and colorful posters glued to the dirty wall until the back of his eyes are aching. He steps behind the counter, where he assumes is where Daniel spends most of his working hours. Nothing there peaks his interest and overall, just feel like a boring and overly ordinary place to be in, if it wasn’t for the circumstances.</p><p>Harry sighs a breath of dissatisfaction as he leans against the counter, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide from the chilly breeze that fills the store. His eyes shoot upward, where shelves of cigarettes are pinned to the wall. He glances at the products in display, and an object catches his attention at the top corner of the room, where the walls meet.</p><p>“Louis!” He shouts, wincing at how his voice echoes inside the space. He can hear footsteps approaching, and when Louis appears by one of the back doors, Harry shares the anxious feeling that’s displayed in Louis’ features.</p><p>“What? Find anything?” The detective asks, voice frantic.</p><p>Harry glances upwards, gesturing at the boxy object on the molded corner of the store. It’s a surveillance camera, pointed right at the counter and probably reaching a bit of the entrance, which is close enough to get within the camera’s view, Harry assumes. “Do you think it’s working?” He asks Louis, whose blue eyes are fixated on the camera.</p><p>The detective bites his lips. “I don’t know,”</p><p>“We should get back to the station and ask the owner.” Harry suggests. He looks at Louis for a moment, waiting for the reply, but all he got was a frantic search for the keys in the pockets of his coat.</p><p>The keys sing in his fingertips as he holds it up to meet Harry’s gaze. “There’s still one door I haven’t cleared. Could be a camera room.” Louis announces, his voice on the edge of excitement.</p><p>“I’ll go with you.” Harry says, trailing behind the shorter man as they make their way to the back of the store.</p><p>They pass through the doors Louis had already opened, and the space there is filled with mold in the ceiling and dirt on the floor. If it weren’t for a small window at the end of the narrow corridor, where the last door is located, the place would be completely dark. Harry can’t imagine how it looks during the night.</p><p>The pair reaches the door quickly and the detective unlocks the door with the key in his possession. Harry peeks through the small gap Louis opens, and when they hear no movement inside, they open the door to reveal a storage room, filled by shelves and thick smell of cigarette smoke and cleaning supplies.</p><p>“Not a camera room, for sure.” Harry sighs, disappointed. Louis’s expression matches the discontent as they pace inside the small room, wincing at the unpleasant scents that linger inside the place.</p><p>Harry goes to the back of the room, not expecting anything but more unhelpful objects, but behind a few more shelves and boxes coated in dust, there’s a tiny desk, a chair that looks at least a decade old and an turned off screen.</p><p>“Louis,” Harry calls, but Louis is already behind him, looking over his shoulder to see the camera’s surveillance computer. “You know how to use this?”  Harry asks when the detective takes a seat on the old chair and proceeds to press all the buttons he can find, until one makes the computer hiss, and the screen turns a light grey.</p><p>“I’ll figure it out.” Louis says, and they wait for the small computer to turn on. There’s too many buttons and commands hidden behind tiny keys. The investigator is still not the most skillful when it comes to computers and technology alike, anyways.</p><p>Harry watches as Louis presses through the limited programmed commands on the small screen, until a list of dates and timestamps appear. “Who knew being a camera enthusiastic would be helpful, huh?” Louis comments, pressing the button to go down the list, until the date February 16<sup>th</sup> is flashing on the concave surface of the screen.</p><p>The image of the surveillance camera from outside the gas station appears, one that Harry didn’t notice it was there. It’s placed around the store’s entrance, and it shows the closest gas pump on the front. It appears to be from early in the day, so Louis pushes the recording forward, until the tape shows a dark night and the time stamps around the time Claire was there, according to the receipt.</p><p>Harry’s chest swells with cold adrenaline when the roof of a beige car appears on the bottom of the screen, and a blonde female leaves the car through the driver’s side. The picture is granulated and of poor quality, so it’s difficult for anyone to identify the girl based on features alone.</p><p>“Is that Claire?” Harry asks to fill in the silence and to distract himself from the rapid beat of his heart.</p><p>“It’s her car, so I’d assume it is.” Louis responds in a shaky breath. Harry can almost hear Louis’ heartbeat too, loud in his ribcage, evident in the deafening silence around them. There’s probably no one for miles around the gas station. “The camera inside wasn’t working, so this is all we have.” Louis tells.</p><p>Harry ignores the slight disappointment at the information. Soon, the tape rolls a bit faster at Louis’ command, and it shows Claire leaving the store and entering her car. It’s even more frustrating, in a way, when they continue to watch the tape and Daniel doesn’t exit the store after Claire, which was the suspicion that had brough them there. “Do you think Daniel could have left then?” Harry questions, just to calm his own anxiety.</p><p>Louis shakes his head slightly. “He’s not seen leaving through the front, but the back exits are a blind spot for this camera.” He sighs. “So, we can’t tell for sure.”</p><p>“Great.” Harry says finally and turns away from the small computer, not managing to watch the rest of the tape knowing what happened to Claire soon after, not far away from where they are.</p><p>Louis easily catches on Harry’s distraught state, turns the computer off to stand up and guide them outside the room, then through the store as he speaks. “Well, at least we have concrete evidence that she was here, at that specific time.” Louis says in attempts to comfort Harry. “It’s not lost time, Hazza.”</p><p>The pair reaches the outside of the store, and Harry takes a breath of relief. Suddenly, the woods aren’t as dark and eerie, and the sounds of trees ruffling in the wind remind him of waves in the beach. “I guess you’re right.” Harry replies, grinning when he remembers Louis’ new nickname for him.</p><p>Louis smirks too and guides them back to his car. Harry tries to ignore the faint feeling of Louis’ hand gently placed on his lower back as they walk across the haunting road. “We should tell Stan about this evidence and ask the owner for the tapes.” Harry suggests.</p><p>“We should, yeah,” Louis agrees.</p><p>Harry must have walked too fast, or maybe there’s not enough nutrition in his system to hold him upright, so when he fails to grasp the doorknob of the car, he nearly stumbles back against Louis, who tightly holds him by the sleeves of his coat.</p><p>“Harry,” Louis mumbles, confused, and glancing over the taller man’s broad shoulders to find Harry’s face pale, his eyes blinking and his hands gripping around the air as if trying to find his balance between his fingertips. “Are you alright?” Louis asks.</p><p>“Just a bit dizzy, it’s fine.” Harry responds quickly, wanting to cut off any worrying thought from both of them. He manages to get on his feet after a brief moment and gets in the car without any more struggle after that.</p><p>The ride is silent, the car roars softly as Louis drives towards the city and away from the South Road, much to their content and relief. Harry keeps himself busy from watching outside his window by scribbling in his notebook, noting the day’s occurrences and notes to add to his reports later on.</p><p>Minutes pass in comfortable silence, and when the car comes to a stop, Harry raises his head from the notebook on his lap, and frowns in confusion when he sees Louis’ house, and not the police station, as he had planned. “What-“</p><p>“I can go to station and talk to Stan and the owner of that convenience store.” Louis interrupts, although it’s gentle and there’s an underlying twinge of concern in his tone. “Get inside and fix yourself something to eat.” He advises.</p><p>Harry turns his head to meet familiar blue eyes. “But I want to help.” He protests, but it’s of no use.</p><p>“You interrogated Daniel and found the surveillance cameras. You’ve helped a lot already, <em>Haz</em>. I’ll be back soon.” Louis says stretching his arm and opening Harry’s door to encourage him to go.</p><p>Harry smiles as he’s exiting the car and can’t stop the warmth that creates roots in the bottom of his ribcage. “You’re getting creative with the nicknames.” He states, holding a chuckle as he leans over the window to look at his friend.</p><p>“You don’t like it, investigator<em>?</em>” Louis asks, but the smile that plays upon his features tells Harry that even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t stop using them.</p><p>“I do, <em>lucky for you</em>.” Harry tells, and Louis’ smile turns widen and brighter. “See you soon.”</p><p>Louis drives away after that, and Harry remains stood in the sidewalk for a moment, appreciating the chilly wind that brushes through his curls. There’s an unfamiliar feeling in his gut, almost domestic-like, one of comfort and tenderness at the smallness of every moment.</p><p>He turns, walks inside the house, and for the first time since he’s ever stepped inside the city, there’s an ecstatic emotion pumping through his heart.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry finishes his reports rather quickly, despite the eventful day that had just passed. The evening has started to settle outside, the wistful sky taking warm yet faint colors as the end of the day approaches. The investigator finds himself glancing through the big windows in the house’s large living room, and his loneliness doesn’t overwhelm him.</p><p>In the silence, he has space to breathe, to reflect on his own, and in the quiet few hours he spends alone in Louis’ house, he doesn’t drive his mind to a stressful set, but rather, a balanced rational train of thought that helps him finish his reports, and tie the day’s events neatly.</p><p>Taking in a fulfilling sigh, Harry stands from the large dining table, now taken by other objects, boxes and random files, and paces through the room purposelessly. In moments like these, he likes to admire small details that surround him, the ones that he doesn’t notice when he’s in a rush of stress and overwork.</p><p>Harry notices small squares of old paint around the walls of the living room and going up the wall next to the stairway. He wonders how the place looked before, when it wasn’t just a house, but a <em>home</em>, in fact, Louis’ home. He visualizes pictures hanging across the spaces, family portraits, maybe even clumsy and colorful drawings from children’s inexperienced hands.</p><p>Going up to the next floor, the dimmed hallway is colder than usual, but Harry appreciates the energizing chill that rises on his spine. He sees the door to the bedroom he’s staying and takes his steps aimed to it, but on the corner of his vision, Harry catches Louis’ bedroom door slightly parted, allowing a slit of light to shine into the corridor’s flooring.</p><p>Harry turns his heel, and slowly pushes the door open. The hinges moan under the movement while his eyes travel around the bedroom, and there’s a grin to his face before he knows it. Along with a mattress, a desk and a few scattered clothes, Harry finds that Louis has placed photographs above his bed, a collection of small, developed films that decorate the wall.</p><p>As he approaches, Harry finds resemblance on the way he’s used to putting up an investigation board, but instead of gory images and files, there’s smiles, people that Harry doesn’t recognize surrounding Louis, maybe his closest friends from Manchester. There’s a few of him with family members, and he looks so young that Harry can’t help the fond smile that takes over his features.</p><p>He feels the dimples in his cheeks popping, and then, on the surface of Louis’ nightstand, there’s a single photo that’s protected by a frame, tilted against the wall. Harry takes the frame with care, assuming that it must be an important object for Louis.</p><p>The photograph is old, probably older than any other he has seen there. The rims are yellowish and crumpled, and marks across the image represents the thousands of times it had been folded and unfolded. It shows a woman, probably in her thirties, with a toddler on her lap.</p><p>The hooded blue eyes and the nose immediately tell Harry that the toddler is Louis, and that the lady that holds him is his mother, considering the similar appearance they share.</p><p>“Feeling better?” Harry hears the familiar voice echo inside the room, and he visibly flinches, startled by Louis’ unexpected appearance on the edge of the door.</p><p>Harry looks at him and grips the picture frame tighter, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding, like he’s overstepping in a space he shouldn’t be in. “Oh, hi, ahn,” He stutters, but Louis only grins at him. The faint sunlight that edges the horizon illuminates the room and cradles Louis’ features as if it were made for it. “I’m sorry,” Harry mutters.</p><p>“Don’t be.” Louis says simply, entering the room with his hands in his pockets. He looks tired, and a bit stressed, and still his smile is blinding, at best. “So, are you feeling any better?” He questions.</p><p>The investigator swallows the dry in his throat. “Yeah, I’m doing alright.” He responds plainly. The detective stands in front of Harry, looking up to meet his eyes, and slowly glances down to meet the sight of the photo held tightly within Harry’s long, pale fingers.</p><p>Harry can’t stand the silence, or the rising guilt in his gut, so he speaks, gazing down at his feet; “I was just looking around, and-” He stammers. “It’s a nice picture.” He states and offers the picture frame to its owner.</p><p>However, when Harry looks up, he finds that Louis has his eyes fixated on <em>him</em>, instead of the object. “You don’t need to be nervous, y’know,” Louis tells softly as he finally takes his gaze down to hold the photograph. “I like this picture a lot. Just me and my mum.”</p><p>Sighing, Harry nods, watching as Louis thumb caresses the edge of the frame. “She seems to be a lovely lady.” He comments.</p><p>Louis smiles. “She is. I miss her terribly, even more now that I’m in this house. Everything reminds me of her and-“ He pauses, swallows around nothing and places the frame back on the nightstand.</p><p>Harry wants to ask further; wants to know every detail of Louis’ life and the stories he holds inside the sapphire orbs he’s growing fond of. But he remains quiet, watching as Louis’ expression changes into a serious tone, although it still soft and kind.</p><p>“Ahn, Stan is working on getting the surveillance tapes from the store’s owner, maybe we can add that to the evidence files soon.” Louis tells, cutting the moment with work-related subjects.</p><p>Harry steps back, suddenly conscious of his presence on Louis’ personal space. “Oh, that’s good.” He mumbles, feeling his heart falter.</p><p>Louis’ eyebrows perk up when he recalls a thought. “And there’s one other thing. It took a little while, but I managed to request a warrant to search Daniel’s property.”</p><p>The investigator tilts his head, interested. “He has property?”</p><p>Louis nods. “Yeah, a small cabin a few miles away from the gas station, in the middle of the woods, if you can believe it. It might take a few days to get the warrant properly through, you know, with all the paperwork.” He says, rolling his eyes slightly.</p><p>“I know.” Harry agrees quietly.</p><p>“But, soon we’ll be able to get a closer look on him. Maybe we’ll find something interesting for the case.” He mumbles.</p><p>Harry grins at him, almost proud of how much work they both managed to get during that day. “That’s great, Louis.” The investigator sighs.</p><p>Louis smirks, blue eyes blinking slowly. “I’m so tired, though. We’ve done a lot today.” He tells, and plops down onto his mattress, staring up at Harry until he does it too.</p><p>“Indeed.” Harry comments in a quiet whisper.</p><p>The pair sit in silence, and Louis’ breathing is deep as it resonates around the room. Harry doesn’t mind it, and soon the silence grows comfortable as the light gets consumed by the night’s dusk at each passing minute. “Haz?” Louis calls after a long while.</p><p>“Yeah?” Harry responds, humming back at the tender whisper that calls his name. Long seconds pass, and nothing leaves past Louis’ lips but quiet breathing. Harry turns his head fully to find the man leaned against the wall, his tired limbs folded and so casually placed on top of the mattress. Seeing Louis so comfortable and casual shouldn’t make Harry feel so comfortable, too.</p><p>Louis seems to inhale deeply before looking up at Harry, as if he’s gaining courage to do so. “Nothing, I just,” He exhales calmly, and Harry doesn’t feel the rush and anxiety he usually feels for moments like those. “Thank you. For letting me into this investigation and for being kind to me even when I was being a dickhead.” Louis declares finally.</p><p>The investigation can’t think of an answer that would match the sincere tone of Louis’ voice, and he can’t even smile right away, as his features are locked in place by the brightness of everything around him. “It’s alright.” It’s all that Harry manages to say back, while staring at the messy duvet under them.</p><p>“This case is very important to me.” Louis says, and Harry notices how his fingers tightly grasp his own knuckles as he speaks. “I’m glad I have you by my side.” He confesses.</p><p>Maybe it’s the faint moonlight that peaks through the window of Louis’ bedroom, or the unusually warm breeze that takes over the rooms and the hallway, that makes Harry so calm and peaceful that night. He forgets for a brief period about the case, the mystery that haunts his sleep, and the presence of a murderer breathing in the same atmosphere as him in that town.</p><p>Harry forgets about his despiteful boss, or the tiny office hidden in the corner of the capital that awaits to trap him again. The thought of having to face death for the rest of his life, and to see the worst parts of a human mind materialize in front of him, it all dissipates for a while.</p><p>Perhaps, it’s Louis’ words, coated so sincerely in a warm compassion, or maybe it’s the tone he uses to speak, the way he laces every syllable in some spell that makes Harry smile so easily. Perhaps, it’s just Louis.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. We Are Standing on The Edge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Twigs snap underneath Harry’s pace and dry leaves stick to the sole of his boots as he walks. The woods swallow the echoes of his steps, slow and steady, careful in the asymmetrical, unknown grounds. Louis’ moves faster as his noises resonate louder through the trees, much to Harry’s dismay and slight amusement.</p><p>However, being in those haunting woods has never felt so relieving. After days filled with anxiety, they managed to have the needed search warrant in hands; quite literally. Harry grips the folder tighter as he steps over the thick, grown root of a tree. “Do you know how long Daniel has been living in this cabin?” Harry questions just to break the silence.</p><p>From the corner of his vision, he spots Louis shaking his head. “I can’t tell for sure. My guess is since his last release from prison. He used to live in the city, but after all he’s done to the people in this town, I guess he chose to stay secluded.” He explains, stepping over rocks and logs to make their way.</p><p>Harry nods although Louis can’t see it, and his skin spike with shivers at every momentary breeze that run past them. The trees look taller and denser now that he’s standing next to them, stuck in between the puzzle of roots and branches that had fallen.</p><p>“We’re getting closer.” Louis reassures, as if reading his friend’s mind.</p><p>The detective isn’t wrong in his statement. In minutes, Harry finds himself approaching a path of beaten dirt and gravel, large enough for a vehicle to pass through; parallel marks of tires can confirm it. They continue the walk until the said cabin comes into view.</p><p>It’s simple, but much to Harry’s surprise, well kept and clean, from the outside, at least. The walls of the small structure are made of wood and the front porch holds stacks of logs and tools.</p><p>Daniel’s vehicle is parked not far from the entrance, much to Harry’s discontent. He was hoping to search through the property without having to face confrontation. Either way, his heart skips a couple beats at the creaking noises the porch’s stairs makes under their feet, a soundtrack for his anxiety.</p><p>Louis looks nervous as well, stuffing his hands on his pockets and biting the insides of his cheeks for comfort. By the manner in which Louis also licks his lips every couple of seconds and breathes deeply, Harry can tell the detective wants to light up a cigarette and forget about the nerve-wracking job they have in front of them.</p><p>“I’ll talk to him.” Harry states, stepping up to the cabin’s front door. Louis hesitates for a moment, but nods once he realizes it isn’t worth arguing about.</p><p>So, the investigator finally knocks on the door, and the sounds are resonating everywhere. The knocks are firm and persistent, much like Harry’s heartbeat. “Mr. Wilson! I’d like to have a word with you!” Harry shouts and waits for the sound of footsteps, along with the singing of keys from the inside.</p><p>He looks back at Louis for a moment, before the front door shifts and slowly swings open. The sight of Daniel’s gelid blue eyes steals his voice for a brief second, but Harry quickly recovers.</p><p>“What are you doing in my property?” Daniel hisses, leaving the door parted behind him as he steps into the porch, almost too close from Harry’s personal space. He glances at Louis over Harry’s shoulder, and swallows the nothing in his throat.</p><p>“Hi, Mr. Wilson,” The investigator greets. “We have a search warrant and we’re allowed to be in here, for the time being.” Harry explains, and as expected, the suspect stands in front of him with his arms crossed and a bitter expression on his features.</p><p>“When are you pricks going to leave me alone? I’ve done nothing to the girl, for fuck’s sake!” He curses, lines of his age parting between his eyebrows.</p><p>“You’ve been cooperating with the investigation so far, Mr. Wilson. We will search your house and we’ll leave shortly after, if nothing compromising is found.” Harry tells, maintaining his posture.</p><p>Silence drags out for what feels like hours while they wait for a positive reply. The surrounding woods whistle and shift in the chill wind while Daniel smacks his tongue as he glances between the two men. “Fine, but you’ll leave me alone after that.” He says in a commanding tone.</p><p>Harry chooses to ignore the man’s words, and at his reluctant allowance, he slits the front door open. “Is there anything you need us to know before we go in?” Harry asks, following the protocol he had been taught; not something he found of importance for most of the time, anyways.</p><p>“No.” Daniel responds shortly.</p><p>Louis trails behind Harry as they make entrance. The investigator can feel the smaller man’s presence move through the area that could barely be considered a living room.</p><p>There was a couch, a small table, a single chair, and the rest of the space was taken by mess, thrown clothes, discarded packages and other useless objects that had been forgotten about. Although the place is unpleasant to be in, there’s nothing at first glance that indicates suspicion; just a lonely man that survives off of the last remaining hope he can carve out of a broken lifetime.</p><p>Louis paces through the larger area of the living space and shoots a glance towards Harry; “I’ll cover this part.” He offers and Harry simply nods in return, directing his pace to the furthest rooms of the cabin.</p><p>A short corridor welcomes him with a light breeze. Time loses its meaning during searches like these. Harry can lose himself in such situations; his mind wanders through the rooms, eyes sharp to every detail, every corner, every stain. He drifts away, putting himself in someone else’s shoes. In his imagination, Harry steps over the trails that Daniel creates through the cabin’s flooring every day, as he follows with his routines, whatever they might be consisted of.</p><p>Losing track of time is easy. When he finishes a room and hops onto another, it feels like jumping through dimensions, coexisting both in the physical and the mental world, by witnessing such specific things about someone else’s daily life.</p><p>Sometimes, he can find something important; a stain that stands out, maybe a place that’s been cleaned excessively, in intentions of erasing clues. Perhaps, Harry will find a bent knife, maybe a shotgun shell in the back porch, or even maybe clothes marked with dry blood and dirt.</p><p>However, Harry finds nothing out of the ordinary. It’s simply a messy home, a mad man’s shelter, and nothing else. Nothing that can connect Daniel to the crime.</p><p>Harry walks back to the living room after <em>who-knows</em> minutes later, and the slightly frustrating look on Louis’ features is enough to tell him that the detective has gotten no luck in his search either. Daniel is leaning against the front door frame, and his arms are relaxed as he exhales smoke and rolls the tobacco between his fingertips.</p><p>“Found anything?” He asks, his tone teasing and condescending.</p><p>Harry breathes deeply, containing his polite posture despite the annoyance that rushes up his bloodstream. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Wilson.” He tells, smirking slightly.</p><p>However, before Harry can cross the front door, Daniel steps in front of him, blocking his exit. Within less than a split second left to react, Harry realizes he’s being pushed, and he tumbles backwards before Daniel’s hands catch the edge of his jacket and pull him close.</p><p>“I had nothing to do with anything! You and your <em>posh</em> accent should get the fuck out of my town,” Daniel hisses, their chests compressing. Harry feels like he can’t breathe. The scent of tobacco is strong, and the man’s eyes are so sharp that it almost physically aches to stare at them.</p><p>“Hey! Let go of him!” Louis shouts somewhere in the living room, his footsteps coming in rushed, but they sound too far away for Harry. The sudden adrenaline numbs him, and all Harry can sense is Daniel’s strong grip, his cold eyes and hoarse voice.</p><p>“You think you can come in and out of places and disturb everyone with you prying questions. Fuck off, investigator, you don’t belong here.” The man mumbles, but it sounds like a scream. Harry struggles for a bit, but its no use. He feels paralyzed. Harry watches up close the flame of violence that has led Daniel to live his lifetime of crimes. It’s terrifying, and he feels a bitter realization when he thinks about how Claire’s last moments were terribly similar to this, but more violent.</p><p>Louis grasps at Daniel’s wrists and tries to pull him away. It doesn’t work, but it’s enough for Daniel to let go of Harry, pushing him in the process. “Get out of here, you two!” He yells. Harry feels like he’s stumbling around until he senses Louis’ hands catching him, cradling his torso and he pulls him towards the front door.</p><p>“C’mon, Haz,” Louis mumbles. “You’re lucky I don’t work for the police anymore. I could have you locked up for this shit!” He argues to Daniel, whose eyes seem to grow redder, filling with irremovable ire.</p><p>Daniel points a finger at the pair, which paces backwards until they’ve crossed the door. “You, Tomlinson. You and your family are a curse to this town! Get out!” He screams, the woods swallow it all, like it did with Claire.</p><p>Harry still struggles to breathe when he’s being pulled away by Louis, who plants a gentle hand on the small of his back as they walk back to the car. The woods are terribly silent, and Daniel’s cabin grows farther and farther away, until it can’t be seen. Louis is muttering, calling out Harry’s name every couple of minutes, but he can’t respond, not yet.</p><p>Once they reach the car, Harry blinks his senses back in, and Louis’s grip on his shoulders are growing tighter at each second of silence. “Hey, Harry, talk to me.” He pleads. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“Ahn, yeah,” Harry mumbles, coughing as his voice aches to leave his throat. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“If I knew he was going to pull out this stunt I would’ve called for backup. That piece of shit-“ Louis curses, turning the vehicle’s engine to life and driving away. “Are you hurt? Say something, Haz.”</p><p>“M’not hurt,” Harry reassures shortly. The road begins to come back into focus, Louis’ knuckles are white against the steering wheel, and the woods remain untouched and haunting the sides of the long, concrete path ahead of them. “Louis-“ Harry calls weakly after a few moments of silence.</p><p>“Yes?” Louis whips his head to Harry’s side, worry still coating his tired features.</p><p>The investigator swallows the dryness in his throat, but it doesn’t go away. “I don’t know what to do.” Harry confesses. “We have no other leads. I’m scared of this case getting cold while Claire’s murderer is still out there. This isn’t fair, Louis.” He whispers out his last sentence.</p><p>Louis sighs softly inside the vehicle’s quiet atmosphere. “We’re working hard and it’s going to pay off, Harry. I promise you. Daniel’s DNA tests are still being processed and if it’s not a match, we’ll keep digging, keep searching. Whoever did this won’t be able to hide forever.” He tells, hoping it would comfort Harry, at least, for the time being.</p><p>It doesn’t.</p><p>Harry feels overwhelmed, and the road becomes blurry and hazy again as his eyes start to water. Flashes of images of Claire’s body haunt his mind, he imagines her desperate screams before she died, tears cascading down her unharmed face. He feels almost as helpless and hopeless as she did.</p><p>His stomach curls in itself, his throat is so dry that he feels like his vocal cords are going to snap, his heart is beating loudly inside his ribcage and he’s sweating underneath the gelid wind that blows through his window.</p><p>“Pull over.” Harry says in a single breath, and Louis complies as soon as his brain processes the request.</p><p>The car screeches as it comes to a stop on the side of the road and the noise echoes through the woods. Harry opens the door and stumbles out, Louis doing the same to try and assist Harry, but the investigator gestures for him to stop. He lurches to the side and bends his torso towards the ground, and when he spews the contents of his stomach, it aches to feel the harsh acid going up his esophagus.</p><p>Harry can barely feel his nausea rising, and yet he feels everything, and it’s overwhelming. The humid dirt against his knees and the wind brushing his curls wildly across his shoulders; his hair is getting long, at this point. It doesn’t last long, but it feels like all the hope has been expelled from his as well, dying in the concrete of South Road.</p><p>“Fuck,” He mumbles to himself, coughing as his throat spasms involuntarily.</p><p>It’s all silent for a moment. Nothing but the trees ruffling, and his ragged breath.</p><p>“Hey,” Louis taps his shoulder softly, and it still startles Harry a bit. “Here.”</p><p>Harry looks up, not bothering to imagine how he must look now, with his hair everywhere and tear-stained cheeks. Within his hands, Louis holds a water bottle and tissues. “Thanks.” Harry says, barely grinning as he takes the objects.</p><p>When he manages to stand on his own, Harry is met with Louis’ features cradled in a tender expression, a mixture of concern and compassion. He wants to focus his entire being into that expression, to forget about everything else and use Louis as tunnel vision so he can breathe again. He can’t, though. Not yet.</p><p>They hop back into the car and it’s mostly a silent ride, until Louis takes a different turn when they reach the end of the road. “Where are we going?” Harry asks, almost in defeat. He expects it to be another chase for another dead-lead.</p><p>“I want to take you somewhere.” Louis tells. “Can I? Are you feeling better?”</p><p>Harry only nods in return, brushing his curls against the glass of his window. He barely watches were they’re going, as he choses to keep his eyes closed for most of the ride, afraid that the sight of the woods will make him nauseous again.</p><p>The vehicle comes to a stop when it reaches a gravel path on the side of the road, leading to a concrete structure. It’s a completely abandoned place, taken by vines and vegetation. It’s barely visible, and only after Harry exits the car and stands before it, he can recognize what it used to be.</p><p>“A gas station.” He mumbles to himself, his throat still aching. “Is this where you used to hang out with your friends?” Harry questions as he turns around to see Louis taking his camera from the trunk and placing the strap on his neck.</p><p>“Spot on.” Louis tells with a faint smile. “It’s been years since I’ve been here. I wanted to take some pictures of it, if you don’t mind.” He says, a request hidden somewhere in his tone.</p><p>Harry responds by walking towards it.</p><p>The place itself is in ruins, barely holding itself together. The structure once stood strong was in pieces, shattered parts of the tall ceiling that had fallen now scarred the ground that used to be plain. A rather large convenience store stood further down into the path, behind all the old gas pumps that Harry wonders if it’s a danger hazard.</p><p>He can’t imagine most teenagers going to such place to hang out, but he can imagine Louis and his friends doing it. “You really had nowhere else interesting to go back then, huh?” Harry jokes, wincing when he chuckles on his sensitive throat.</p><p>“It was a small town in the 80’s. It was either this, the diner or the school’s parking lot, where all of our parents would catch us underage drinking and smoking.” Louis tells, smirking to himself as he recalls the memories. “Good times.”</p><p>“I’m sure it was.” Harry teases, brushing their shoulders together as they cross the entrance of the old building that once was a convenience store.</p><p>Debris and plants cover the entirety of the place, and still, there’s a faint sunlight that invades through the cracks and the holes in the walls that bring some sort of brightness to the area. Harry hears the clicking echoes of the camera as Louis takes photos, and they venture off through the space just like that.</p><p>Silence is comfortable, even more when any noise at all reverberates for what felt like miles, and it’s soothing to be in an empty spot, where no one can judge or condemn. Between the dust and distant memories that cover the abandoned place, Harry can feel himself breathing more calmly. “It’s not so bad.” He tells.</p><p>Louis appears from behind a thick wall. “I told you. Hey, come here, look at this,” He gestures, and Harry approaches, stepping on pieces of concrete as he makes his way.</p><p>Following Louis’ pointed fingers, Harry can easily make it out, between vines and cracks; there’s carvings that rupture the plainness of the concrete wall, names stamped on the surface, along with other doodles and random scribbles. He spots a predominant <em>LT</em> carved into it, along with the outline drawing of a penis.</p><p>“Very mature.” Harry says, holding back a laugh.</p><p>“I was seventeen, come on.” Louis tells and takes a few pictures of the carved wall. “Look, this one is from one of my best friends, his name’s Niall.” He gestures to a weakly marked <em>NH</em>. “This one is Stan’s.” He points to the <em>SL</em>.</p><p>It’s something so simple and innocent, to be placing your mark on the world in such a way. Harry wishes he had lived his youth in a place like that; small and quiet, where everybody knows everybody. He had lived the opposite, growing up in the capital, where everybody is busy and have absolutely no time and will to express the slightest gestures of kindness.</p><p>“Looks like you had fun in here.” Harry mutters, filling the silence.</p><p>Louis nods and takes a seat on a piece of concrete lying in front of the wall. “I did.” He agrees. “I know I complain a lot about this town, but it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s one of those places you hate, but you feel at home at the same time.” He confesses in a quiet tone.</p><p>Harry sits by his side, shifting his long legs on the uncomfortable concrete. “I feel the same way about London.” He tells. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>The detective leans back, the camera hanging over his chest. “Sure.”</p><p>“Why did Daniel say you and your family are a curse?” Harry questions, and Louis’ amused smile soon drops, and a frown takes its place. “I’m sorry if it’s personal, I-“</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” Louis interrupts with a broken cough. Harry watches him shift, and something in his demeanor shows hesitation, maybe even fear. But he recovers quickly, and Harry is left with more questions. “Well, like I said, I enjoyed growing up here, for the most part. I liked the people, and my friends. But, most people didn’t like me as much.”</p><p>Harry feels his heart picking up pace, as if he’s anticipating something important. “Why?” He asks.</p><p>Louis turns his gaze around, Harry follows with his own, and then they’re looking at the wall covered in their carvings.</p><p>“See that?” Louis points to a large heart shaped figure carved in the corner of the room. Inside, there’s a <em>LT</em> and another pair of initials that had been scratched off until it became unreadable. “It was from me and someone I used to date.”</p><p>Harry isn’t getting it, at first. He feels a twinge of something warm, like adrenaline and jealousy, when he pictures Louis in his teenage years with a past lover in that place. His own bad experiences with relationships wish Louis had a better experience than he did, at least. “What happened?” Harry dares to question.</p><p>“The town didn’t approve of it.” Louis explains. “But it’s alright. In the end, it really wasn’t meant to be, anyways. <em>He</em> wasn’t worth it.”</p><p>
  <em>He.</em>
</p><p>“Oh,” Harry expresses as realization hits him. Louis bites his lip anxiously, and Harry can now understand the fear and hesitation from before. “I’m sorry.” Harry says, sincere and understanding, because he really did understand.</p><p>Something in Louis’ vivid eyes tell him, he knows that Harry comprehends it, too. “I like to believe that things happen for a reason. I learned a lot from that hate, as weird as it sounds. It made me who I am, and to be honest, I’m not ashamed of anything at all.”</p><p>Harry can’t contain his smile, then. The pride gleams in Louis’ eyes and it’s so bright that it bathes the abandoned ruins in warmth. “I’m glad you’re not.” He whispers. “Was he fit at least?”</p><p>“You’re unbelievable.” Louis rolls his eyes, and a smile splits his face. It’s such an endearing sight that Harry only watches with a dimpled grin of his own as Louis stands up and gestures. “Let’s go <em>home</em>, yeah?”</p><p>It’s all it takes for Harry to comply.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The DNA’s test results arrive a few days after, and it is in fact, not a match. If those results were conclusive to Daniel’s verdict, it would prove him to be innocent.</p><p>Harry reads over the results at least three times, and he had to come to terms with the fact that, although Daniel was the last known person to see Claire alive, he had nothing to do with her murder. Usually, Harry is relieved to see people’s characters managing to prove their innocence, even if their backgrounds are not so clean.</p><p>So, when Harry notices that he’s frustrated and somewhat annoyed that it's not Daniel, he’s confronted with the realization that he’s not being able to have a clear view of the case; he shouldn’t be mad at someone’s innocence, and that thought causes a chain of negative emotions and stress to whirl through his mind.</p><p>The case is growing cold, no matter how much Louis tries to push Harry forward and motivate him to go on, to keep looking. Claire’s murder was coming close to the two month mark. The pressure was coming from all sides, from London by Harry’s despiteful boss, to the people in town, from the police station, and he was afraid that the media would soon bring unwanted attention to the case as well.</p><p>It’s a Sunday afternoon when Harry feels like he has reached his limit. At this point, he had turned Louis’ house into a mess, unintentionally. The first floor of the home has every surface covered by papers, reports and boxes, and the police station was more than used to Harry’s presence, as he drove there every morning to use their printer and to push for more information. The silence and the tranquility of the town, besides the fuzz from Claire’s case, is beginning to drive Harry completely mad. He feels out of place, unfocused, stressed.</p><p>Louis has spent most of the Sunday in the dark room, developing his photos and he would only exit the room to show Harry a few pictures, in failed attempts to distract the investigator and ease his mind, even if for less than just a minute.</p><p>When the night comes, and Harry hasn’t still eaten nor left his spot for the entirety of the day, Louis decides to take action.</p><p>“Alright,” Louis mutters, walking across the living room to meet Harry’s figure. “That’s enough work for you today.” He states, gently removing some papers and whatnot from the other man’s grip.</p><p>“Louis-“ Harry tries to retort.</p><p>The detective is quicker, however, talking over his tired voice. “No, Haz. You’ve been here all day and I’m positive you’re the only person in this whole town that is working on a bloody Sunday.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Harry argues.</p><p>“You know what I mean.” Louis responds. “Let’s take the rest of the night off. No investigation until tomorrow, deal?”</p><p>Harry has no other option but to comply. While Louis fixes something for them to eat for dinner, which will be Harry’s first meal of the day besides coffee, the investigator goes upstairs to take a shower and change clothes.</p><p>Relief washes over his bones when he walks down the stairs again. Harry feels a bit lighter, and he has to physically turn his head away from the investigation board on the wall of the living room, before he spirals down the case’s timeline again.</p><p>Louis heats some food from the day before and they eat in a comfortably silent atmosphere. Louis flickers through a stack of photos he had developed and occasionally shows Harry his favorite ones while he balances his fork on his other hand.</p><p>Harry uses most of the silence to reflect on his and Louis’ relationship. He’s not someone to think too much ahead of his future, but he wonders why Louis’ presence is becoming so important to him, to the point where he feels like wants to see Louis again, even after the case is done and solved.</p><p>He wonders if Louis feels the same, or if he’s just taking care of him because he depends on Harry for most parts of the case. It’s all in the back of his mind since day one of working with Louis.</p><p>The rational side of his brain tell him that Louis is only still around for the case, nothing else. Still, those tender, brief moments tear apart any previous judgement Harry had made about the other man.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Louis asks after he’s done with his plate, leaning back on the old chair. “I hope it’s not about the case.”</p><p>Harry smirks. “It’s not.”</p><p>“Spill, then,” The detective requests, crossing his arms, awaiting.</p><p>“Wondering if I’ll ever see you again, after this is all over.” Harry confesses, and it’s one of his rare moments of vulnerability where he talks his mind without much filtering.</p><p>There’s a silence after he speaks, and it takes a moment before Harry can look up from the surface of the table and meet Louis’ expression. His blue eyes are cradled in a warm glimmer that fights the dimmed lights around the dining room.</p><p>“Well,” Louis speaks, biting his lip. “Do you <em>want</em> to see me again?”</p><p>Harry does, it’s the thing. Even when they argued, which wasn’t as rare, Harry was positive they balanced each other out quite well. Louis made working as a team fit with Harry’s rhythm and that was a big change, considering he always liked to work alone before Louis.</p><p>Also, Harry liked to see Louis in the mornings, to hear his annoying whistling echoing through the hallways. He was contented whenever he overheard Louis on the other side of the door of the dark room, working on his photographs. Harry felt his chest swell with a warm feeling every time Louis’ figure came into view, standing in the kitchen, or peeking around the living room’s corner to check on him. Harry was beginning to get used to feeling less lonely, and the thought of not seeing Louis again afterwards is dreading.</p><p>“I do.” Harry declares, allowing himself to be more vulnerable than he liked to admit.</p><p>Louis smiles, but he tries to hide it behind his hands, and upon failing, he stands up. “Well then! I’ve never been to London, so, would be nice to have you showing me around.” The detective says, messing with the tall cabinets. Harry holds back a chuckle as the man struggles to reach. “Drink?” Louis offers, pulling out a bottle of something that Harry doesn’t care double-checking.</p><p>“Sure.” He accepts simply. Louis pours a couple fingers of the amber-colored alcohol into two mugs, lacking proper glasses. “There’s not much to do in London, to be honest.”</p><p>“Do you like music?” Louis asks, closing the bottle.</p><p>“Yeah.” Harry hums.</p><p>“I’ve heard about cool gigs there, some bands that I like and stuff. Maybe we could go to a few.” Louis says as he sits down, mug of whiskey in hand, and something in his tone is so hopeful and somewhat excited that ever if Harry didn’t want to go, which he does, he would agree to go with him just to see him contented.</p><p>Harry smirks, feeling his dimples popping in his cheeks, and flickers a curl away from his eyes before he raises his mug. “To the future, then.”</p><p>“To the future.” Louis echoes, and they toast over that.</p><p>Harry drinks and winces slightly at bitter taste of the alcohol, shutting his eyes as his tongue processes the flavor. “That’s strong.” He chuckles.</p><p>“It better be. It’s been in that cabinet for at least six years.” Louis says, and Harry lets out a loud laugh at the comment.</p><p>They go to the living room after, sitting on the couch with their drinks in hand and talking about whatever comes to their mind. Harry feels looser, more relaxed, and he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or Louis’ presence. Whatever the answer may be, he’s contented, and it takes him at least one hour to be able to forget about the case and the investigation, for the time being.</p><p>However, Harry steals glances at the investigation board a couple times, and Louis’ slightly tipsy character is not having it. “Quit looking at that, c’mon, live a little,” Louis speaks, and downs the entire contains of his second mug of whiskey all in one sip.</p><p>“You’re mad,” Harry says as he watches it, feeling his own throat ache at the sight of it. “If you’re hangover tomorrow, I ain’t putting you in a cold shower.” He teases.</p><p>“That’s too bad.” Louis says, and if Harry wasn’t as tipsy, he would’ve been stunned at the not-so-subtle attempting at flirting. “Let’s go somewhere else, you’ll get back to work if we stay close to that thing.” Louis says, already standing up from the couch and catching his faltering steps up the stairs.</p><p>Harry trails behind him, loudly laughing every time Louis stumbles. He receives a few elbows to the ribs for that, but it just makes him chuckle even more. By the time they are sitting in Louis’ bed, limbs tiredly hanging over the single mattress, Harry has completely let go of his previous stressed-out state. All he can focus on is Louis, his voice, and the way his eyes fall on him every time he speaks.</p><p>“Hey, since you just love talking about work,” Louis mumbles, his back against the headboard of his bed. “What made you get into Forensics?” He questions, making conversation.</p><p>Harry bites his slightly numb lips as he ponders his answer. “I was aiming for Psychology and hit Criminology and Crime Investigation. But I believe I made the right decision. I love my work, even with all the stress.” He explains. “What about you?’</p><p>Louis sighs and his eyes wander the surface of the bed sheets for a moment. “I never thought I would leave this town back then, so I chose what most of my friends did. They wanted to work at the police station, but I really didn’t want to be hands on, dealing with criminals face to face, be a police officer or something like that.” Louis tells. “So, I chose to deal with the bureaucratic bullshit.” He jokes.</p><p>“Fair enough.” Harry chuckles.</p><p>“Yeah, but I love what I do, too.” Louis states. “I feel like, we grow up listening that you have to change the world to be someone worth living. But, if we can solve at least one case, catch just one criminal, we’re already changing someone else’s world. We are helping people, bit by bit but we are, still.”</p><p>Harry can’t help but to smile, and nod in agreement as he feels his curls dancing across his forehead. “You’re absolutely right.” He says.</p><p>“When am I ever wrong?” Louis jokes, and Harry rolls his eyes. The detective stretches his limbs as he yaws tiredly, and kicks Harry’s knees in the process purposefully, making them both laugh. </p><p>Harry notices Louis is a lot more physical when he’s tipsy, and he doesn’t find himself minding it at all. There’s a bit of skin that gets exposed in between Louis’ waistband and the hem of his t-shirt as it rides up a bit; inches of his soft hips make an appearance, and it makes Harry’s throat go dry. Or perhaps it’s the alcohol, he prefers to believe.</p><p>“I’ll go get us some water.” Harry says, excusing himself out of Louis’ bedroom.</p><p>“Don’t take too long!” Louis’ shout echoes through the hallway and Harry chuckles to himself as he goes down the stairs.</p><p>He manages to cross the living room without getting caught up in the literal tangling of wires of the investigation board, and after getting two cups of water and turning all the lights off, he finds Louis right where he had left him. “Did I take too long?” Harry asks, a smile in his features as he hands Louis one of the cups.</p><p>“Yeah, missed you already.” The detective jokes before drinking the water. “M’tired.” He complains after downing the whole cup.</p><p>“Me too.” Harry agrees, then realizing just how tired he really is. His limbs are aching, and his eyes are only parted to catch sight of Louis and his tipsy grin.</p><p>Louis hums something under his breath and shifts on his mattress until he’s lying down. Harry’s slow state of mind gets caught up in the way his soft brown hair is splattered over the pillowcase, and he doesn’t understand what Louis is saying as he mumbles.</p><p>“What?” Harry says once he notices Louis’ open arms.</p><p>“Come on.” Louis gestures. “It’s bloody cold.”</p><p>Harry feels suddenly sober when his brain finally processes Louis’ request.</p><p>He approaches, slow and hesitant, fighting the urge to jump into the offered embrace. His long legs barely fit in between the small space between Louis’ body and the end the mattress, and his shoulders are broad enough to scrape against the edge of the nightstand, but when Harry places his head on the pillow beside Louis, at last, he feels warmth and comfort washing over his bones.</p><p>“Is this okay?” Louis asks, his voice going shy and low, almost a whisper against the wind that sings outside, as he places his arms around Harry’s shoulders.</p><p>“Yeah,” Harry hums simply, because there’s not enough inhibition in his system to make himself think over his position. He doesn’t feel awkward, but he feels like he fits there.</p><p>So, Harry lets himself be embraced by Louis, because it’s cold, and because they’re tipsy. Not because he’s comfortable in the warmth of his chest, and <em>definitely</em> not because he enjoys how he can hear Louis’ quiet, peaceful breathing as they drift off to sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry doesn’t remember waking up and getting out of bed. He simply fights the way his heart clenches when he shifts away from Louis’ cuddle, and trips out of the room, straight to the bathroom, where he washes his face and groans at the slight headache that stings at his temples.</p><p>It doesn’t take long before Louis wakes up too, and they stumble upon each other in the hallway. The morning sunlight bathes Louis’ tired grin as he looks up at Harry, a hand cradling his bicep. “Advil?” The detective offers shortly.</p><p>“Please,” Harry nods.</p><p>After the medicine, mugs of coffee and a lot of water, the pair is recovered and awake, despite the weariness still present in their limbs. “Any plans for today?” Louis asks Harry as he washes their dishes from the night before.</p><p>Harry leans against the counter, quietly observing the streaks of sun rays light up the kitchen. “Get more reports from the station and give some case files back.” He tells.</p><p>“I can go. I have absolutely nothing to do. Developed all the photos yesterday, already.” Louis offers, finishing the dishes.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Harry asks, still not feeling awake enough to argue.</p><p>Louis nods and approaches, taking the empty mug of coffee from Harry’s hands. The investigator tries to hide the way Louis’ fingertips against his knuckles makes his face heat up. “Yeah, you should stay. I doubt you’ll be able to drive, anyway.” Louis retorts.</p><p>Harry frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Means you’re a lightweight, compared to me.” The detective states.</p><p>“But I’m bigger than you.” Harry responds almost immediately.</p><p>The sentence makes Louis’ head snap at his direction. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, for your own sake.” He grins, his tone ironic and coated in amusement.</p><p>Harry dimpled smirk comes to life and he wonders how Louis manages to make him feel that way, even with all the circumstances, and the disgraceful things they have been witnessing along their investigation. It’s like Louis is a lighthouse, in the middle of an angry sea, illuminating the darkest of places.</p><p>From across the kitchen, Harry can feel it. The heat behind his blue eyes, the lingering touch and gaze that makes Harry want to be closer, in all the ways he can afford. The detective approaches slowly, and his smaller hand rises to tuck a misplaced curl behind Harry’s ear. It’s so delicate, tender, that Harry barely feels it, barely has time to back away. Not that he would, anyway.</p><p>“I’ll go now, then. Be back in a few.” Louis says, voice low and gentle, almost as caressing as his fingertips.</p><p>“Don’t take too long.” Harry smirks, mimicking Louis’ words from the night before.</p><p>The detective only smiles, eyes so bright it makes Harry compare them to the sunlight that evades the house through the windows, and then he’s leaving out the front door and driving away.</p><p>Harry uses the silent time alone to wander around the house, take a shower and think over the night before. He didn’t expect the wave of fear that washes over him; the hesitation that had always made itself present whenever Harry was beginning to feel affectionate towards someone else.</p><p>Years of loneliness and bad relationship had consequences; he found himself anxious to think that he could ruin whatever him and Louis were creating between them. Harry doesn’t see himself as a good friend, or a good lover. His tendencies are to be fearful, to build his walls up.</p><p>He wonders if he should have refused to sleep beside Louis, because now that he’s alone, the only thing he can think of is if, when the night falls again later that day, Louis will appear at the edge of his doorframe, and sneak under the blankets beside Harry.</p><p>He hopes that Louis will.</p><p>The living room full of boxes and reports invite him back into his work’s headspace, helping him to get rid of any remaining anxiety regarding the unclear nature of his relationship with Louis. Perhaps, just an intimate friendship, or a platonic exchange.</p><p>In the silence, Harry works for a while, losing track of time, before he can hear Louis’ car turning the corner of the street, a couple houses away.</p><p>However, the vehicle doesn’t stop quietly, but a screech rips the rumbling of the engine, and then the front door of the house is slammed open. Harry snaps his eyes towards it, from across the living room.</p><p>“Harry,” Louis calls, and his eyes are red and slightly watering, as if he were crying, and there’s a hidden desperation behind them, conflicting with hesitation. “Get in the car.” He demands, as softly as he can.</p><p>“Louis, what-“ Harry says, standing up. His heart begins to race against his ribcage, although he doesn’t know why yet. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” He requests.</p><p>Louis’ features twist into a deepened frown, and it physically aches Harry to watch his eyes water, and his head shake a negative answer. “No, H-Haz,” He stammers, swallowing his urge to cry. “They’ve found another body.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! Just a quick note, I wanted to thank everyone that has been leaving comments and following up with this fic. It's really motivating for me and I can't appreciate it enough. Thank you! We're halfway done with this story. I'm glad to have you guys here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Drying Of Your Tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She lies in between dry leaves and humid soil, and Harry finds himself standing above the lifeless figure of yet another victim. Once again, he’s surrounded by the tall trees of the South Road’s circling woods, pushing against police offices and crime scene workers.</p><p>For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. The deep cuts along her pale skin and cold limbs are vicious, brutal compared to the bruises around her wrists and around her neck. She’s clothed, entirely, keeping most of her figure hidden if not for the gashes in her clothing cause by a sharp, unkown blade.</p><p>Her name, he learns in between muffled voices and hushed tones, is Amber Paxton. And her face is completely unharmed, untouched, and by that, everyone present at the scene immediately connects her with Claire’s case. Amber had just become the second victim of Claire’s killer. A murderer that Harry couldn’t catch in time.</p><p>The investigator inhales a sharp breath, and coughs harshly against the sleeves of his coat as he struggles to maintain his system from functioning, as if seeing Amber’s body makes a part of him die as well.</p><p>The wind is gelid, and it blows against the tear tracks on his cheeks. Louis isn’t in a much different state; his hands, usually steady around the camera, shake and tremble as he takes images of Amber, and with each click comes a shuttered sigh that matches Harry’s unsteady breathing. His eyes are overwhelmingly emotional whenever he crosses gazes with the investigator, and it only makes Harry want to weep and fall into another one of his warm embraces, and seek comfort there, since everything else feels cold.</p><p>Harry tries his best to do his job, and he wonders at what point during this particular investigation he became so attached and connected with the case. He used to handle everything in the most polite and serious conduct, although he never lacked sympathy and compassion to the victim and their families. Claire’s case – and now Amber’s – took him apart completely, and not in the best of ways.</p><p>He takes notes, works through his sharp and meticulous gaze, and when there’s nothing else to write about except for Amber’s undamaged face, her dead eyes and her blonde hair stained with blood, that’s when Harry steps away from the crime scene. He glances over at Stan, who looks just as devasted and unsteady from the whole ordeal. The sheriff nods sympathetically at him, a sad grin across his face.</p><p>Making his way to Louis, who is leaning against the car, awaiting. The shorter man’s eyes meet his figure walking closer, and Harry never wanted to see Louis with open arms so badly before in his life. Unfortunately, Louis only grasps at his bicep gently and looks up at him, and no one knows what to say or how to say it.</p><p>Louis tries, though. He’ll always try. “Harry,” He mutters, and the investigator perks up at the mention of his name coming from Louis’ soft voice. His tone is shaking, and his eyes are watering again. Harry can’t look for too long. “Alright,” Louis whispers, tenderly pressing his fingers on Harry’s arm before he lets it go and slides into the driver’s seat.</p><p>The drive back is quiet, and it’s not the usual, comfortable silence. It’s dense, thick, and almost unbearable. Harry breathes deeply, and it echoes through the vehicle. Louis does the same.</p><p>Arriving at the house, Harry enters and doesn’t watch Louis disappear in the back, towards the dark-room. He feels entirely numb, until he takes a long glance at the investigation board.</p><p>The fear, the anxiety that eats his stomach raw and the numbness, everything is reduced to pure anger at that moment. Harry feels his veins heating, and his hands twitching as he approaches the board, crossing the large living room. Pictures of Claire pinned to the wall only scream into his face that he couldn’t catch him. That another life has been lost because of his incapability. That both Claire and Amber were too young, and they deserved to live long lives.</p><p>He’s furious, something he doesn’t allow himself to be very often, so, it’s unfamiliar. He’s livid at the killer, the case, the entire haunting city that surrounds him. But mostly, he’s angry at himself. In a fit of spiking rage, Harry tears down the board in front of him, scrapping his nails against the old wallpaper, tearing strings and papers apart in the process.</p><p>His heart is beating faster than its ever been, and his lungs feel like he might collapse, but he keeps pulling at the materialized parts of the case, trying to feel something that isn’t pure ire and self-hatred at that moment.</p><p>“Haz!” Louis shouts from somewhere in the room, but Harry barely listens. Louis approaches and holds onto the man’s forearm before he can attack the wall again, stopping him mid-movement.</p><p>Harry whips his head towards the other man, and in the blue confusion of his gaze, Harry senses his anger is dissipating. It’s an agonizing sensation, to feel his anger disappearing, only to leave a trail of anguish and despair on his bloodstream. He almost wants to feel angry again, just so he doesn’t have feel the overwhelming emotions coming back in.</p><p>“Haz,” Louis calls again, and it’s tender, a mumble in a spiral of loud thoughts, a lighthouse in amongst a wrathful sea. “It’s okay.”</p><p>Harry can barely hold himself together, then. All his walls come crashing down, his chest blooms with something that should feel like relief, but it feels like hopelessness. Louis’ open arms catch him without a fail, pulling him close and they go down together, until the pair is on the flooring, tangled in one another in search of something that doesn’t feel like dread.</p><p>Harry cries against Louis’ chest, that’s smaller than his own but feel bigger than the world then. Louis squeezes him, hold him until the sea is a bit calmer, at last. He cries too, tears falling on Harry’s curls as the investigator inhales Louis’ cologne.</p><p>“It’ll be okay.” Louis reassures, whispering against his instable breathing.</p><p>Harry shakes his head inside the embrace, his tears staining Louis’ shirt. “I couldn’t catch him. I could’ve found something to stop this long ago and I failed.”</p><p>“<em>We </em>couldn’t catch him.” Louis repeats. “You’re not alone in this, Haz. I feel like shit too, but we’ve got to keep our heads up.”</p><p>“I can’t find it in me, Lou.” Harry says, shortening Louis’ name in a tearful mutter. If it weren’t for the circumstances, he’s sure Louis would be smiling, as sweetly as his imagination can create.</p><p>“Maybe not right now. But it’s in there, I promise you.” Louis responds, tracing gentle fingertips against Harry’s sternum, as his other hand trails patterns against Harry’s back.</p><p>It’s so overwhelmingly comforting that Harry feels almost guilty as he calms down from his emotions. He doesn’t say anything else, but takes in Louis’ words and his embrace, and it’s enough for now.</p><p>He holds onto the fabric of his shirt until Louis tugs away slowly, and his tear-stained features shifts into a focused expression. “Wait, Haz,” He says almost apologetically as he paces towards the back of the house and comes back with an old telephone that barely works.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Harry questions, moving to lean against the wall he had just ruined.</p><p>Louis sits by his side, placing the telephone in his lap. He twists the wires and the presses the buttons until it comes back to life, starting an endless beep that echoes faintly. Putting the object to his ear and rotating the numbers in, Louis weakly grins. “I’m calling for backup.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Backup does arrive at the end of the evening, when the night has already settled. It comes through the front door of Louis’ house in the form of two tired-looking men, holding bags and folders. Harry nearly feels physical relief wrapping around his bones when he spots the pair.</p><p>They greet Louis warmly, with long embraces and smiles, coated with the unfortunate circumstances that brought them there. Harry waits politely by the edge of the living room, quietly watching the group until Louis gestures for him to come closer. “Lads, this is Harry, he’s in charge of the case.” He introduces.</p><p>The taller man, a brunet with dark brown eyes, grins softly and approaches to shake his hand. “Hi, nice to meet you, man. My name’s Liam.” He tells.</p><p>The other man, a shorter one with raven black hair and whiskey-colored orbs, soon repeats the same gesture. “I’m Zayn.” He says, simply, and Harry grins sympathetically at the pair.</p><p>“They’re my best mates from Manchester, they work with me at our station there.” Louis explains.</p><p>Harry nods. “I see. Thank you for coming, really. This case may need all the hands it can get.” He says, before they close the front door and bring their bags inside. Louis instantly prompts himself to make dinner for everyone while they settle down in the house.</p><p>Harry chats with the newly met pair – chats with Liam, more like. Zayn is quiet, a funny type, yet shy – as they arrange the table to fit the grown group. Somehow, Harry manages to not talk about the case immediately. He’s hesitant, as if the pair will go back to Manchester after hearing about it and conclude that Harry is chasing after an unsolvable crime.</p><p>They won’t, though. Liam is the one that brings it up, once they’re all seated at the dining table. “So, Harry,” Liam starts, and Harry glances up to meet the man’s kind eyes. “What’s to work on now, about this case? There’s a new victim, right?” He questions. Harry feels his stomach twisting at the thought of the crime scene he had been in, that morning.</p><p>“Payno, give it a break for now,” Louis interrupts, then sighs. Harry grins weakly at him, as if in confirmation that he’s <em>fine</em>. Harry’s <em>fine</em>. “The autopsy is made overnight, so we’ll only get the reports to work on tomorrow.” Louis assures.</p><p>“I read about it, on our way here.” Zayn tells, words laced in strong accent and calm tone. “Bit gruesome, innit?”</p><p>“Tell me about it.” Harry agrees, quietly focusing again on eating his dinner.</p><p>Although he doesn’t speak much during their dinner, Harry is contented to sit quietly and watch the three men interact. Louis looks brighter, his shoulders a bit less slumped and his eyes less saddened. He laughs at stories that Liam tells and smirks at Zayn as they share inside jokes; Harry can’t help but feel himself growing brighter as well, and glad that Louis has good friends back in Manchester.</p><p>If it reminds him of his own loneliness and lack of social life back in London, Harry doesn’t care to give those thoughts any attention. He’s busy with Louis’ smile growing bigger as the night continues to carry on, bringing the cold dusk and the haunting mysteries that Harry is more than eager to solve.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Amber’s autopsy reports and evidence files arrive in the early hours of the next morning, by the hands of Louis who also brings coffee to the working pair. Harry and Liam take on the task to stay at the house, work the case from there, while Louis and Zayn decide to carry their investigation at the station or anywhere else that might be helpful.</p><p>The bright sunlight that bathes the living room fuels Harry to pick up the pieces of his case. Liam assists him as they organize the investigation board from the beginning, and Harry is grateful that Liam doesn’t question him why there’s ripped papers and tore strings hanging from the scratched wallpaper.</p><p>Recalling his breakdown from the previous day can only remind him of his unstable emotional state, and Harry feels like he needs to detach from this part of himself for the time being.</p><p>Focusing on the reports, it takes no more than an hour for them to read it through.</p><p>Amber Paxton was nineteen, only one year older than Claire, and she lived at the city’s center. She shared a flat with a roommate, which reported her missing when she failed to come back home after work on the Saturday night. Much like Claire, Amber was murdered on a Sunday, and her body was found in a Monday. The pattern didn’t scape the investigator’s attention, who added the fact to the investigation board.</p><p>The cause of death was also the same. Asphyxiation cause by strangulation, most likely by hand. Not to mention, the mutilation of her body had similar features; cuts deep enough to reach bones, and bruises around her wrists indicated that she was restrained. Her face, like Claire’s, was intact, undamaged, and Harry’s stomach ached at every photo from the autopsy.</p><p>“Alright mate, what conclusions we can make right now from this?” Liam questioned, sitting back on the old couch as they finished going over the files.</p><p>“Strikingly similar murders, possibly by the same person.” Harry announced, sighing. “DNA tests are being made to confirm a match. But I’m positive is the same perpetrator.”</p><p>“Bet on it.” Liam nodded. “There’s a few inconsistencies in the circumstances, though.”</p><p>Harry’s interest peaked. “How come?”</p><p>The brown-eyed man bit the inside of his cheek, turning to the other man. “The first one, Claire. The way everything is put indicates no premeditation. Her car was left open, on a spot where it can easily be seen, and there’s no evidence of an attempt to cleanup.” He explains. “Amber’s, however, is completely the opposite. She was <em>placed</em> farther into the woods, more distanced from the road, and there’s no evidence of how she got there. No car, no vehicle, nothing. Also, the defensive wounds are evident on Claire, while Amber’s body have almost no signs of a struggle in her part.”</p><p>Harry listens attentively as Liam flickered through pictures. “So, you’re suggesting Claire’s murder wasn’t planned, but Amber’s was?” He questions.</p><p>“Exactly.” Liam confirms. “To be honest, that’s a bad scenario to work on.”</p><p>“And why’s that?” Harry frowns.</p><p>“The killer, whoever it is, clearly got a thrill by killing, and wanted to do it again. He murdered Claire without premeditation, and then took his time to kill again.” Liam tells, his soft features coated in morning light. “He left both bodies on display, he has clear intentions of letting himself to be known, to be feared.”</p><p>Harry’s blood runs cold. “Claire’s bag.” He mutters. “He tied it to a high branch of a tree and carved <em>Good luck</em> into the trunk of it. Left there for us to find.”</p><p>Liam nods, taking in the information. “Classic serial killer behavior. He gets a thrill on the possibility of getting caught. He wants to control, to manipulate, to prove a point of some sort.” He points. “And he’s not going to stop. Amber won’t be his last victim.”</p><p>The shivers that run up Harry’s spine are uncontrollable. He swallows down the bitter taste of regret; he wonders how he could have thought this murderer wouldn’t kill again. Had he prevented it; Amber’s life could have been spared. In split of a moment, Harry manages to exit the spiraling guilt that will consume him if he lets it.</p><p>Breathing deeply, he focuses on what he can do <em>now</em>, instead of what he could have done <em>then</em>. “Alright, what can we do to prevent this from happening again? At least, for the short term.”</p><p>“Alert the city.” Liam says in a beat. “Fear can be a great helper in cases like these. It may attract the media and cause a bit of panic, but we have to try. I’ll tell Louis to go to the station tomorrow and ask the officers to alert the citizens. Also, to keep an eye open for people that go missing. Specifically, young girls.”</p><p>As he speaks, the brunette writes down quickly in random pieces of paper and pin it to the wall. Harry is speechless at the man’s quick thinking, and his capability of problem-solving is impressive, compared to Harry’s own time consuming methods.</p><p>“You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?” Harry says with a shy smirk.</p><p>Liam glances back at him, a cheerful smile threatening to break his focused expression. “Behavioral forensics is my specialty.” He states. “It’s easier to catch a criminal when you already know who they are, in some ways.”</p><p>Harry ponders for a moment. “What about his choice for victims? What can you build from someone that targets young girls, who share almost the same features? I mean, both girls had light blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin and slim figures.” He explains.</p><p>Like a switch, Liam’s answer to those questions is quick to come to light. “It’s quite common for those types of murderers to pick victims that look alike. For them, the repetition in the appearance reaffirms their power. But it can also mean the killer has traumas linked to someone else that shares the appearance of their victims.”</p><p>Noting the precious information down, Harry can understand why this method of investigation can be helpful. In a case like this, especially in a small town where everyone knows everyone, building a profile of the killer can pinpoint a suspect with ease.</p><p>“It’s like, everything surrounds this whole power and control dynamic.” Harry comments under his breath as he writes.</p><p>He hears Liam sighing somewhere in the room. Looking up, Harry finds the man staring at the board, his back turned, shoulders raised but saddened in sympathy for the victims. “Indeed, mate.” Liam mumbles. “People like these usually had tough or violent upbringings, that made them so hungry for a bit of power that they kill.”</p><p>Harry sips the last bit of coffee in his cup, just as the morning sunlight raises to the roof of the living room. “Creating a profile like this is new to me.” He confesses. “But I see how it can work.”</p><p>Liam grins, pacing towards Harry. “What do you usually work on?”</p><p>“I’m best at crime scenes and evidence analysis.” The investigator tells. “Less subjective, I guess.”</p><p>“I like subjective.” Liam expresses. His voice is deep, yet gentle, as if tracing the warm atmosphere in the place. He reminds Harry of himself, the way he paces around nervously, and how there’s worry and compassion tracing the edges of his eyes, all indicate the reasons why Louis would be friends with someone like him. Like <em>them</em>, for that matter. “Well, we should get working on all this.” Liam exhales, sitting back down beside Harry and flickering through the files once again.</p><p>The heat of noon is coming closer as the pair continues to work together. They find subtle details and information that may be interesting to add to reports, but nothing conclusive enough to have them interested.</p><p>Harry is left to wonder without the guidance of any accounts. His eyes are glued to the big window next to them, and his mind is everywhere but there. Both victims killed on a Sunday; perhaps it’s the only day in which the murderer can carry out his crimes? Does he work? If he does, where? How old can he be?</p><p><em>Building the profile. </em>Harry wonders if he’s doing it right.</p><p>“Liam?” Harry calls after what felt like an hour of silence. “Do you think he has killed before? Before Claire, even?” He questions.</p><p>The other man ponders for a beat, brown eyes scattering the mess of papers in the low coffee table. “It’s possible.” He concludes. “Wanna look into it?”</p><p>Harry shrugs. “Maybe tomorrow, after we go to the station. I can do better research on that.”</p><p>The investigator writes every question in his notebook and waits for the sun to reach the highest point in the sky so he can take a breather. Coincidentally, that’s when Louis, followed by Zayn, comes back to the house.</p><p>He swallows the bit of hopelessness down his throat, and judging by Louis’ tired eyes, they hadn’t had much luck either. In between the lines of Louis’ weak grin, something reminds Harry of words that had been echoing in the back of his mind since the previous day. And he hears it in Louis’ voice and accent.</p><p>
  <em>It’ll be okay.</em>
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</p><p>At night, Harry can’t sleep.</p><p>The bedroom is cold, but warm enough to keep him away from the comfort of a blanket. He gives up on sleep completely after failed attempts to reach the peaceful state, one which he seeks for dreams, and finds only nightmares. Long fingers run through his hair, taming the curls for just a second before they fall loosely around his face.</p><p>He sighs, sits up on the mattress and stares at the night sky through the window for a minute, wondering if the killer is out at this hour, consuming the silence of the late evening. He fights the intrusive thoughts as it starts to fuel his anxiety.</p><p>Harry gets up and paces through the quiet hallway, going down the stairs with eyes parted from weariness, when his body collides with a smaller one, but it’s not Louis.</p><p>“Oh, sorry mate,” Zayn mutters, his dark hair turning into an endless cloud of gloom in the lightest staircase.</p><p>“S’alright.” Harry smiles, only making out the man’s simple grin in the dark. “Have you seen Louis?” He questions, his voice bouncing between the walls.</p><p>Zayn nods shortly. “He was just outside. We were just having a cig.” He tells.</p><p>“Thanks,” Harry says, offering a grin which Zayn returns, and they go their respective ways.</p><p>Harry finds the front door parted, allowing a chilly breeze to wander free inside. He crosses the entrance of old house, silently, and finds Louis’ body curved along the creaky railing of the front porch. From where Harry’s standing, he can’t see his face, but can make out the outline of his smaller silhouette, so casually put in the scene. He thinks of how it must be for Louis to be there, back in his childhood home and investigation a brutal double murder in his hometown.</p><p>Harry concludes; everything must feel bittersweet for the detective. He wishes he could take the bitter part out and leave Louis with nothing but the bliss Harry can feel at his presence.  </p><p>“Hey,” Harry whispers, announcing his presence then.</p><p>Louis turns his head, and his features are bathed in dusk and in the dimmed light from the porch. He looks tired, but a cheerful smile brightens the purplish tones of his under eyes. “Hazza, what are you doing up at this ungodly hour?” He asks.</p><p>The investigation approaches, feeling the breeze bring shivers to his skin. “Couldn’t sleep.” He tells.</p><p>“I figured.” Louis smiles shortly. “So, how’s working with Liam?”</p><p>“Oh, he’s great. The lad’s quite intelligent and articulate.” Harry responds.</p><p>A sweet grin plays on Louis’ lips. “That’s good to know. I hope he doesn’t replace me.”</p><p>Harry can’t help but to smile, too. “That’s not possible. Only you can pick me up from the darkest of places.” He mutters, uncaring of how much depth his words can hold. Louis makes him want to be vulnerable, without hesitation.</p><p>“I’ll make sure to add that skill to my resume.” The detective jokes, biting his lip as he stares back at Harry, waiting for a reaction.</p><p>“Bastard.” The taller man curses, elbowing Louis’ side as the other man laughs. There’s a silence, the one that it’s so often between them, and it’s almost as if their presences are enough to one another, no words needing to fill the space. Harry is certain that’s the truth. “Your friends are nice, though. You look happy around them.” He says.</p><p>Louis smirks, blue eyes darkened by dusk and turned empty street. “Yeah, they’re good lads. Always willing to help, y’know?”</p><p>Harry nods. “Like you.” He mutters.</p><p>Louis only smiles at him, and turns his back to the railing, look up at the front porch’s ceiling. Harry follows the movement with a watchful gaze, and he swallows the dry in his throat at every muscle and bone that shift tenderly under Louis’ skin, coated in dimmed light. <em>He’s beautiful</em>, he concludes. It’s a thought that’s been in the back of his mind for so long, but he was never able to fully feel it. Or perhaps, he wouldn’t allow himself to feel it.</p><p>“Going to bed, already?” Harry asks shallowly when Louis paces towards the front door.</p><p>“No, I’m sleeping in the couch.” He announces. “Liam and Zayn are sharing my bedroom, didn’t want the lads to sleep in the living room.”</p><p>Harry glances at him in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve slept in the room I’m staying in.” He says just as they enter the house, exiting the gelid wind of the night.</p><p>Louis turns back, eyes parted in amusement. Underneath the brighter lighting, Harry notices a rose color rising high in his cheekbones, possibly from the cold. “I don’t want to kick you out of the room, Haz.” He mutters, tiredly.</p><p>“We can share it.” Harry offers.</p><p>Something that looks like interest or expectation passes through Louis’ eyes. It disappears in a second, barely. “Payno took my spare mattress, though.” He explains.</p><p>“The single bed worked out fine for us a couple nights ago.” Harry says in a beat, before his heart can jump out of his throat. The way the word <em>us</em> roll out of his tongue is easy, and sweet. Harry is struck with the realization that while they talked, he had subconsciously approached Louis, or Louis approached him. Either way, they were close, faces apart by a short distance.</p><p>“Haz,” Louis whispers, looking up, and Harry can scent his familiar cologne, with a distant hint of tobacco and soap. “With everything that happened, I barely had time to,” Louis swallows. “To talk about it.”</p><p>Harry breathes in the same air as him, and it feels right. In the midst of emotional confusion and frustration, the only thing that Harry had managed to control was the guilt that slipped into the hours that he and Louis had spent together, that Sunday night. He can’t bring himself to feel guilty when it felt so right to be with him then, to share a drink, laugh and stumble mindlessly until he ended up in Louis warm embrace.</p><p>“Well, we don’t have to, not right now.” Harry assures, and he watches with passion the way that Louis’ shoulders fall graciously, as if a weight had been taken off of him.</p><p>“I guess you’re right.” He smiles, blue eyes bright and hopeful as he glances upwards. “But will we?” He questions.</p><p>“I hope so.” Harry confesses, once again feeling the will to be vulnerable next to him.</p><p>He’s open, more than he’s ever allowed himself to be. He can feel Louis’ breathing tickle warm in the edge of his chin, and his smaller hand rising up his torso, tracing the hem of his t-shirt. He wonders if Louis is doing all of it subconsciously, as if he’s under a spell. Harry can recognize the sentiment in himself too, when he notices his fingers have settled themselves on the thin hair at the back of Louis’ neck. Staring into blue eyes, Harry had never wanted to kiss someone so bad in his life.</p><p>He fights the urge to glance at Louis’ lips, afraid to break the vision of Louis’ enamored gaze. It’s precious, unique, and Harry wants to have those pair of eyes looking up at him for as long as he can take.</p><p>Harry doesn’t kiss him. Something in the back of his throat burns, much like his anxiety, but it’s harsher. He’s <em>scared</em>. Fingertips drive down to Louis’ bicep, and his expression is so hopeful, so expectant, Harry feels bad for not dipping his head down towards the other man. He wants to kiss him. But he won’t, afraid that he’ll end up chasing something else in Louis’ lips, other than pure ecstasy.</p><p>Harry’s afraid that pressing his lips against Louis’ will bring him relief and reduce any emotion towards the other man to nothing but a distracting mechanism. Somehow, Harry knows that Louis feels the same, and it’s just as hesitant to approach him, for only a raise of his feet would reach him.</p><p>They both pull away, barely. Just enough so they can breathe on their own atmosphere, and still, Harry senses Louis’ hands on his hip, and his own against the detective’s forearm, holding him.</p><p>“We should rest.” Harry says, feeling as if he’s breathing for the first time.</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Louis nods, still not looking away from him although his voice falters.</p><p>Harry is the one that looks away, as he pulls Louis up the stairs and into the room. Guiding them back to safety, underneath the blankets that somehow now feel warmer than they’ve ever been. Harry holds Louis this time, eager to feel the other man against his chest.</p><p>“Thank you, Haz.” Louis whispers, a tone so low that Harry barely hears.</p><p>“It’s okay.” The investigator mutters back, pressing his cheek into Louis’ hair, crossing their ankles together, and silently wishing the night’s hours were longer, slower, just so he wouldn’t need to leave this place.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Waking up in a much better state the next day, Harry decides to spend his day working on the questions he had raised the previous day, when he went over files and reports with Liam.</p><p>The investigator separates from the group as they headed to the station; Harry drove towards the local library, to look for a few answers that might be hidden in between old books and newspapers. The building is old, obviously neglected by the town hall, but it still holds itself strongly.</p><p>From the entrance, he can see the seemingly infinite sequences of shelves, lined up and filled with thousands of books and other materials alike. Harry feels comfortable in the silence there, and after grabbing two stacks of old newspapers, and settling in a spacious table for him to work on, Harry starts the next step of his investigation.</p><p>Both piles of newspapers are marked, labeled as <em>80’s</em> and <em>90’s. </em>Harry can’t imagine the time consuming task some blessed soul had taken upon themselves to organize neatly the hundreds of old, yellowish papers.</p><p>He starts from the newest, a paper from just a few weeks ago, and going down the list until he hits February of 1992, the current year. Claire’s murder is portrayed at the first page, printed in big letters before an excessive amount of adjectives for the words <em>killing</em> and <em>violent</em> to inform the town about what happened, with a minimum amount of detail. He separates that newspaper to a corner of the table and carries on his search.</p><p>Arriving at some month around 1984, Harry finds something. It’s unimportant to the case, but it brings a rush of adrenaline to his chest, a warmth in his bloodstream. In the first page, the announcement printed tell <em>“Local police station welcomes the service of the youth; new staff hired to serve and protect.” </em></p><p>The news itself doesn’t grab Harry’s attention. What does is a granulated picture printed largely in display, showing a row of at least a dozen men. Amongst these men, dressed in officer’s attires and alike workers at the station, Harry spots no one other than Louis, and also Stan beside him.</p><p>They’re both smiling, and although the photograph is of terrible quality, Harry can’t help the wave of fond he gets just by glancing at the photo. Louis looks so <em>young</em>, and despite his features barely holding any sight of age compared to the current days, his bright smile and simple demeanor seem <em>hopeful</em>.</p><p>It’s a bittersweet sight, because Harry is aware of everything that happened since then, but it’s wonderful regardless. Louis in his youth is something he didn’t know he wanted to see. Fighting the urge to take that paper for himself, Harry continues to flicker through the dates, reading front pages until his vision turns blurry and his head aches slightly.</p><p>A few hours pass, and the words are starting to tangle themselves together under Harry’s focused gaze, until he finds <em>it.</em></p><p>
  <em>October, 1982</em>
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  <em>Young local girl found viciously murdered. </em>
</p><p>Harry readjusts himself on his seat, barely wincing at the discomfort in his back.</p><p>His focus is sharpened, suddenly raising intensely after his mind processes the words. Ten years back from then, a young girl was killed too, and by the gruesome photos printed in the thin, fragile paper, the murder was as violent as Claire’s and Amber’s. Highly likely, the same killer.</p><p>He carries on reading, and his heart drops to the bottom of his spine again. And this time, it isn’t with interest, or with the thrill of finding something compromising to the case. It’s with something much stronger, a mix of disappointment and anger. There's a picture of the girl when she was alive, at the corner of the page, and she looks oddly familiar.</p><p>His stomach twists, turns itself out and aches sharply. Harry takes the 1982’s newspaper and shoves it into one of his folders in a hurry. He rushes out of the library, his heart beating so loudly he can hear it echoing in his eardrums. He needs to get to the house. He needs to get <em>home</em>.</p><p>The drive there is erratic; he piercers through red lights and makes a couple illegal turns to get where he needs to be, as fast as he can. His hands shake as they grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white and painful by the time he pulls up to the driveway of the house.</p><p>Louis’ car is there, and he doesn’t know if he should be grateful, or anxious over the fact. Harry storms inside the house, and at the sight of it empty in the first floor, he runs up the stairs, and finally, he finds him.</p><p>“Hey! Haz, the station was crazy today, the lads managed to get so many files. Did you find anything?” Louis says as he’s paces out of the bedroom. Their bedroom, that they now share. Harry doesn’t know how to feel then, to be in his presence, if he’s completely numb or overwhelmed by it all.</p><p>“Louis,” It’s all he manages to mutter, and still, his voice breaks. Harry wants to cry, to laugh, to run away from that horrible town that only holds mysteries, lies, and unspeakable violence against its citizens.</p><p>“What?” Louis says, and his tone drops. His eyes search frantically for an answer in the lines of Harry’s distraught expression but finds nothing. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.” The detective pressures, bringing a hand up to cradle Harry’s face.</p><p>Harry doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. He consumes the warmth of Louis’ touch, so tender, and he can finally find within himself the courage to speak again. “Were you planning on telling me this?” He mumbles, uncaring of his broken tone.</p><p>Harry pulls out the old newspaper from his folders, glancing between Louis’ scared blue eyes and the yellow paper in between his trembling fingertips.</p><p>The big bold words are stamped, obvious and clear. Louis’ gaze follows down with hesitation.</p><p>
  <em>October, 1982</em>
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  <em>Young local girl found viciously murdered. </em>
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  <em>Victim identified as Charlotte Tomlinson.</em>
</p><p>Louis retracts his hands from Harry, steps back, and looks between the paper and the investigator. He looks like he’s disappointed, too. Harry can recognize it; the evident disappointment in himself.</p><p>Swallowing a lump down his throat, Harry stares into Louis’ eyes deeply, seeking for any more hidden truths. “Why didn’t you tell me your sister was murdered, too?”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bruises That Won't Heal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Say something, Louis.” Harry whispers, his tone pleading. However, Louis can’t. Nothing comes except for a tense silence, taken partly by faint creaks of the old house around them. “Louis!” Harry shouts, flinching at the way his voice reverberates across the hallway.</p>
<p>Finally, blue eyes look up from the hardwood flooring. “Harry, I, just,” Louis mutters, swallowing the knot in his throat. “I’ll explain all of it, I promise you, I will,”</p>
<p>Harry interrupts him when the answer comes full of uncertainty. “This changes everything! Do you know we could be dealing with a serial killer here?” He says, uncaring of the slight aggression in his tone.</p>
<p>“Don’t you think I know that?” Louis argues, shouting back. At this point, the whole world around them is erased. Harry can only sense Louis, his words, his tone, his secrets.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Harry questions.</p>
<p>The detective bites the inside of his cheek. “I was afraid you wouldn’t let me work in this case if you knew,” He confesses, in a lower tenor, as if he’s exposing a wrongdoing of his part.</p>
<p>Harry’s chest breaks, feeling as if his heart had stopped beating altogether. “Is this all I am to you? Someone you can seduce just to get close to a case which <em>happens</em> to have a direct connection with your sister’s murder?” The investigator hisses before he can filter his words.</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare say that,” Louis points, his features holding something that feels far too deep for Harry to recognize. “Don’t accuse me of <em>using</em> you. It’s far from the truth.” He tells.</p>
<p>“Then why, Louis? Why did you keep it a secret? Why did I have to find out on my own?” Harry manages to say, his throat aching as his tears threaten to fall.</p>
<p>Louis shakes his head and looks away. “I don’t know what to say to you right now. But I’ll figure it out, I promise, just give me time,”</p>
<p>“We don’t have time! There’s a murderer out there and he’s not going to stop!” Harry shouts again. “But oh, right, yeah, have all the time in the world to sort yourself out.” The investigator mutters, despising how his words are coated in unrecognizable anger. He shoves the fragile newspaper against Louis’ chest, with no force at all but it makes the detective step back regardless.</p>
<p>Harry tries to step away as well, only to have Louis’ fingers circle around his wrist, holding him with gentleness despite the tense moment. “Stop fighting with me, love, please!” He pleads.</p>
<p>“Don’t call me that.” Harry tells, pulling his hand away from the other man’s shallow grip. “I feel like I don’t know you right now.” He confesses, and his lungs feel like they might collapse at any moment. Harry turns his back, unsure of what to do, where to be, and who to believe.</p>
<p>“Please, don’t leave.” The detective pleads; he sounds broken, and Harry reluctantly looks over his shoulder to find desperation coating his features. “Don’t leave <em>me</em>.” Louis whispers.</p>
<p>There’s a faint, late afternoon sunlight that bleeds to the hallway through the window. It bathes Louis’ silhouette in a golden halo, almost ethereal. Amongst all the negative emotions, Harry barely gives attention to the twinge of fond that hits him. His anger turns to pain, seeing Louis standing there, after holding back this secret all along.</p>
<p>Harry wants to forgive him, to hold him and he wants to <em>understand</em>. However, he finds that his mind is too tangled, tired, and stressed out. “I’m not leaving.” He states. “I just need time too.”</p>
<p>The detective nods shortly in a silent sign of relief. Louis’ eyes are filling up with tears, but the man wipes it away before it falls down his cheeks. Harry doesn’t care to wipe his own as he walks back towards the driveway and lets them trail down his face.</p>
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<p>“The DNA results for Amber are here.” Liam announces, but it goes unnoticed for a while. “Harry, mate?”</p>
<p>The investigator looks up, finally. Harry stands from the tiny chair at the station’s front desk area, pacing towards Liam, which holds a puzzled expression in his features. “You alright?” Liam asks, concerned for his friend.</p>
<p>“I’m splendid.” Harry simply grins, not his most genuine gesture. “What were you saying?”</p>
<p>Liam shrugs his confusion off, heading back further into the station’s hallway, as Harry trails after him quietly. He appreciates that Liam doesn’t push him for an answer or tries to figure out the reasons behind his unusually sour mood. Harry doesn’t think he would have the strength to discuss the recent argument he had just shared with Louis.</p>
<p>It aches, it’s the thing.</p>
<p>The whole ordeal leaves a trace of bitterness in Harry’s chest that burns every time Harry thinks about it. And it’s all he can think about.</p>
<p>It’s not the betrayal he felt when he found out, or the anger that took over him at the realization that Louis had been <em>hiding</em> this crucial information from him, but it’s the strain in his heart at the thought that Louis might have <em>used</em> him. It’s stupid, really. Harry has seen genuine affection and fond in Louis’ eyes, from the day they’ve linked up to work the case together. But the idea of it lingers, still. And it aches.</p>
<p>So, Harry is relieved that he still has both Zayn and Liam to work the case with at the station. He doesn’t believe he would be able to think past the whole situation if it wasn’t the change of scenario.</p>
<p>“Do you know the results already? Have you read the report?” Harry asks once they’ve reached a quiet office space at the back of the station, where Zayn and Louis must have been working on the days they wouldn’t spend in the house.</p>
<p>Liam nods, and the look in his face tells Harry the reply he was expecting but dreaded, anyway. “Yeah, it’s the same person, DNA matched and all. Claire and Amber were both killed by the same person.”</p>
<p><em>And Charlotte, </em>Harry thinks. At the corner of the room, Zayn waves at him, and Harry waves back, weakly. He needs to tell them about her, about Louis’ sister. He doesn’t know how to even begin to plan his words.</p>
<p>“Good evening, boys!” A familiar voice greets from the door frame. “Styles! Good to see you around here,” Stan says, one of his big smiles across his face.</p>
<p>Harry can’t help the relief that washes over him when he realizes; Stan <em>must</em> know about Charlotte. He was Louis’ best friend, after all. “Sheriff,” Harry mutters, unceremoniously. “Could I have a word with you?”</p>
<p>The shorter man nods politely. “Of course. My office?”</p>
<p>Harry bites the inside of his cheek as he looks back at Liam and Zayn to find slightly perplexed faces. Guilt rises up his chest, but he needs to leave them waiting, for now.</p>
<p>“Those new lads, they’re nice, aren’t they?” Stan questions, making small talk after he closes his office door behind Harry. “So, what is it, Styles? Is there something wrong?”</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t know how to put it. It’s not something wrong for the case, in fact, it is a crucial piece of information that may possibly help to catch this killer. In the perspective of his relationship with Louis, or whatever is there between them, then the answer is yes. There’s definitely something wrong.</p>
<p>“No, ahn,” Harry mutters, cleaning his throat when his voice falters. His mind gets tangled in the mess of emotions and disappointments, so instead of easing into the question, like he usually does, he simply asks; “Sheriff, are you aware of Charlotte Tomlinson’s case?”</p>
<p>Stan blinks, tilting his head. “Yes, I am. In fact, everyone in this town is quite used to this occurrence. It shook everything, back then.” He tells, sitting back in his chair, behind his desk. “Weren’t you?” He asks Harry.</p>
<p>The investigator shakes his head shortly, not able to find his voice then.</p>
<p>“I assumed you knew, since you’re working with Louis.” Stan mumbles, and there’s a sincere feeling in his tone, almost a sympathetic one.</p>
<p>“Well, I didn’t. It came to my attention only today, this morning, in fact.” Harry tells, aware of the bitterness behind his tone. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to ask you if there’s any evidence left from her case. I believe there’s a possible connection, with the other girls.”</p>
<p>Stan ponders for a moment. “I’m sure there’s something. Follow me.” He says.</p>
<p>Without another word, Harry follows the Sheriff as he leads them to a long corridor outside of his office. It’s dark, shadows cast high in the ceiling under the poor lighting inside. Their footsteps echo around, and there’s a click that reverberates endlessly, when Stan open the last door.</p>
<p>The room Harry is led to is expanse, and it reminds him of the lab, somewhere else in the building. White light and bright flooring, except for the rows of shelves that take most of the space inside. Stan paces through the slots between the shelves, taken by boxes of other cases’ evidence.</p>
<p>“Here,” Stan mutters, taking out a box from one of the rows. Harry’s heart shudders at the words labeled on the side of it. <em>Tomlinson, Charlotte</em>. “I’m not sure you’ll find much there. Forensics back in the 80’s were quite slob, to be honest. Especially around here.” He says.</p>
<p>Harry nods mindlessly as he takes the box into his hands. He fights the urge to open it right then and there, tucking it under his arm and shooting an appreciative glance towards the Sheriff. “Thank you, really. I hope something here helps with the current case.” Harry tells.</p>
<p>“I hope it does, too.” Stan nods, leading them out of the room. “I’m trusting you and the other lads with this. People are starting to panic, so, I really hope it does.”</p>
<p>Harry swallows, trying to prevent himself from panicking. There’s a huge weight in his shoulders, a pressure that won’t go away. He wonders how heavy it must feel for Louis, as well. “We’ll figure this out.” Harry says, confidently.</p>
<p>Stan smiles, and leads Harry to the reception. Before they go their separate ways, the investigator turns his head; “Sheriff?”</p>
<p>The other man prompts at the call. “Yes, Styles?”</p>
<p>“What was it like, for Louis?” Harry questions, his heart thundering inside his ribcage. He can’t help but feel like he crossed a line there, a subtle limit that strains past Stan’s and Louis’ faded friendship. “I can’t imagine losing a sibling, like <em>that</em>.” He says and hopes it’s enough for understanding.</p>
<p>Luckily, it is. The Sheriff’s eyes dart around the flooring, a bit lost and searching for the right answer. He tucks his thumbs under his vest. “It was rough.” He tells, and although it’s a short reply, Harry can sense the genuineness in his words.</p>
<p>He can see how painful it was for Stan, his best friend back then, to see Louis suffer the way he must’ve had. Harry can’t picture himself being able to watch him suffer, either.</p>
<p>“I don’t think he ever truly recovered from it.” Stan tells, and it breaks Harry’s heart.</p>
<p>“See you around, Sheriff.” Harry says finally, and walks out of the building, deciding to let Zayn and Liam to their own devices until tonight. Or until he’s built up the courage to talk about anything without straining his voice as if he’s on the edge of a breakdown.</p>
<p>Harry climbs into the driver’s seat of his car and places the evidence box on the passenger’s side. He stares at the deep grey color over the cardboard thing and reads the label of Charlotte’s name until his vision is blurry with tears.</p>
<p>The sensation of betrayal and anger suddenly dissipate into guilt, and a bitter sensation of selfishness. He needs to talk to Louis, but he isn’t sure he’s capable of going through a whole conversation properly.</p>
<p>Stuck amid his emotions, weighted down by the pressure of solving a case and lost within the maze of his own mind, Harry slams his hands on the steering wheel, just to watch the vehicle’s body shake with his sudden motion.</p>
<p>He whimpers as he lets out another cry, and cringes at the trail of tears that fall to stain his coat. The car swallows all the noises as he drives away, and Harry feels himself eventually grow numb as he travels through the mist and coldness of the city’s streets.</p>
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<p>Harry sleeps in the living room that night, just to avoid the temptation of falling right back into Louis’ warm embrace. He wants to, it’s the problem. And it steals a few hours of sleep.</p>
<p>The space is dark, expect for a faint streetlight pole that stands just on the sidewalk outside. It bathes the living room in a faded ochre tone, and it creates shadows that makes Harry want to find comfort somewhere else. He’s sure he would find it upstairs.</p>
<p>It’s just past ten, the night is dark and unmerciful, and he can’t sleep. There’s creaks and noises that make his blood run cold at the harsh realization of being alive, of being <em>alone</em>.</p>
<p>Then, Harry hears footsteps. Unfamiliar, subtle, and almost unnoticeable, if it wasn’t for the dense silence that surrounded him. It’s coming from the stairway, steps going down, down, until it creaks just behind the couch, where he lays.</p>
<p>He peaks over and finds nothing but a slim silhouette in the dark.</p>
<p>“Did I wake you up?” Zayn’s voice caresses the atmosphere, voice hoarse yet gentle.</p>
<p>“No,” Harry mutters. He hears the front door opening, creaking slightly, and then he’s standing up. He can’t sleep, anyways.</p>
<p>Zayn prompts himself in the fence over the front porch, elbows glued to the old wood. Harry approaches like a shy child.</p>
<p>“You smoke?” Zayn asks, unceremoniously. There’s a pack of cigarettes open inside his grip, and he offers it out towards Harry.</p>
<p>“Not really.” Harry answers, but pulls one out of the small package. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>The flame of Zayn’s lighter momentarily paints the place in orange. It’s nice, warm against the cold wind that reigns the town. Harry lets the flame linger a bit longer at the tip of his cigarette, before passing it over to Zayn, who lights his own too. The smoke is thick, and Harry coughs a bit before he gets used to the feeling of it filling his lungs. It’s nice after it does, slowing down his pulse. He feels as if he can become one with the wood there, with the front porch, with the ground.</p>
<p>“Why aren’t you sleeping with Louis?” Zayn questions, abruptly. Harry coughs, his breath stuck around his tongue in surprise. He can see now why Louis is so close to Zayn. There’s this lack of filter in his words and in his actions, and it fits well with Louis’ spontaneous personality. Harry barely recovers from the shock of the question, before Zayn speaks again. “You know what I mean, why aren’t you upstairs?” He asks, half chuckling.</p>
<p>Harry shrugs, acting nonchalant despite the rapid beat of his heart. He takes another hit of the tobacco to make his bloodstream steady and heavy again. “We had a disagreement.” He says, simply, trying to ignore the fact that Zayn, and most likely Liam as well, have taken notice of his close relationship with Louis. Especially the part where they fall asleep in the same bed, <em>willingly</em>.</p>
<p>“Is this about Louis’ sister?” Zayn asks, knocking Harry’s breath out of his chest again. He decides he can’t smoke <em>and</em> interact with Zayn at the same time. It’s asking too much of his lungs.</p>
<p>“How do you know?” Harry asks, inhaling more of the thick smoke.</p>
<p>The other man turns his head, his whiskey-colored eyes turning pitch black in the nightly dusk. “Louis told us. At dinnertime. While you were out.” He tells. Harry nods. He had gone out for a walk during dinner, just to avoid the whole subject. To avoid Louis, mostly. “Also, I think you forgot the evidence box, with her name on it and all, at the table.”</p>
<p>Harry wants to smack himself in the head. “<em>God</em>, I’m such a dickhead, aren’t I?” He mumbles.</p>
<p>“Aren’t we all?” Zayn chuckles, smoke lingering before his chiseled face. “Liam and I were quite shocked. We didn’t even know he had a sister. But I understand it.”</p>
<p>“You do?” Harry mutters.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Zayn takes a drag. “I’ve known Louis for years now. He’s very reserved when it comes to his family, his past, or his personal life even, it’s just the way he is.” Zayn says, without any tone of judgement at all. Harry grins, growing fond of the new friend. “I understand why he would keep it to himself. I have sisters, too. I’m the oldest, and I know how it feels like when something bad happens to them. You feel guilty. You feel like you <em>failed</em> them. I can’t imagine how Louis felt, then.”</p>
<p>The words hit Harry cold. It makes his gut twist and turn inside out. He feels selfish for being mad at Louis, for avoiding him. But he can’t help the way he feels.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what to do.” Harry confesses. Zayn turns to glance at him, just when his cigarette ends. His eyes look right through him, across his façades and all. Harry’s vulnerability is exposed, and he doesn’t mind it. He <em>trusts</em> Zayn, in a weird way.</p>
<p>“Talk to him.” The man responds after a beat. “Let him say whatever he has to say. You’re here, losing sleep because of it. I don’t think he’s much different, upstairs.”</p>
<p>Again, the words impact Harry like the gelid wind that brush through them. “Thank you, Zayn.” He says, genuinely, and the other man smiles towards him.</p>
<p>“Don’t need to thank me, mate.” He says. “Just, be gentle with him, alright? I’ve never seen him so <em>affected</em> by someone else. He really cares about you.”</p>
<p>Harry’s chest suddenly goes warm. Maybe it’s the tobacco settling in. <em>Maybe</em>. “I care about him too.” Perhaps, a bit <em>too much</em>, he thinks.</p>
<p>“That’s what matters, then.” Zayn says, turning his heel to the front door. “Goodnight, Harry.”</p>
<p>“Night, mate.” Harry mutters, letting himself be washed by the nightly breeze for a while longer. Zayn trails off just as silently as he came in, and the traces of his words still linger in the air around Harry, like the smoke from the cigarettes.</p>
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<p>When Harry wakes up the next morning, there’s a rhythmic sound echoing in the living room. It knocks lightly on the glass windows, on the wood of the front porch. It’s rain.</p>
<p>The rain drifts him off of slumber, in the most delicate way. He almost forgets about all the concerns and ordeals that surround his stressed-out mind. It reminds him that the world still spins, still exists despite his own personal issues. The drizzle that hits the ground proves it to him.</p>
<p>Harry stumbles away from the couch, his back aching at the uncomfortable position he had slept in to be able to fit in the narrow cushions. His footsteps are shallow and silent under all the noise of the rainfall. He glances out of the window and can’t see much from across the street, the morning fog taking over the scene.</p>
<p>Sighing, he paces through the house, to the bathroom and then to the kitchen, relieved to not stumble upon anyone on his way, just yet. He hears a noise from the back of the house, more specifically, from the corridor behind the kitchen.</p>
<p>The dark-room, he considers. It’s Louis, undoubtedly. He grins silently to himself, listening to the equipment there being handled, the hush of steps inside the room thundering low. He <em>misses</em> Louis, and he can’t help it. His heart isn’t completely healed from the all the overwhelming emotions from the previous day, but his lungs don’t feel like collapsing when he thinks about it anymore, so he supposes it’s a good sign. A sign of progress.</p>
<p>Either way, he doesn’t have much of an opportunity to think over his situation then. Louis stumbles into the kitchen a few minutes later. Harry is leaning against the counter, mindlessly staring at the table top across from him, as if waiting for his coffee to appear there.</p>
<p>He looks up when he spots the figure in his peripheral vision. His voice gets stuck in his throat for a second. “Hey,” He whispers, and it gets lost amongst the noises of the rain.</p>
<p>Louis seems to hear it, anyway. “Hi.” He mutters, voice low as well.</p>
<p>The tension is visible, almost palpable in the atmosphere around them. But Harry doesn’t want to disappear, doesn’t want to run away. He breathes in, deeply, before he speaks again. “Have you seen the other lads?” He questions. He doesn’t really want to know it. He just an excuse to speak to Louis.</p>
<p>The shorter man swallows a lump in his throat. It makes Harry’s eyes drive to his neck, his jaw. “They’re at the station, I believe. Quite early, they went off. I reckon they wanted to,” Louis swallows again, and it looks harsher this time. “They wanted to go through Lottie’s case.”</p>
<p>Harry shifts against the counter. “I see.” He says simply, not trusting himself to say anything else.</p>
<p>There’s a brief silence again, coated in the sounds of the raindrops. It’s lovely, and it would be a perfect scenario for Harry to approach Louis, to wrap his arms around him and fill his senses with his cologne and his presence. But he <em>can’t</em>.</p>
<p>“Harry,” Louis calls, tone already pleading. “Can we talk?”</p>
<p>“I think we should.” Harry agrees, without a missing a beat. It seems to startle Louis, and there’s a bit of relief coating his features. Harry can see it, from across the kitchen, how his chest falls gently under his shirt, and shifts into a comfortable pace of breathing.</p>
<p>“I,” Louis starts. “I have, I <em>want</em> to show you something.” He mumbles.</p>
<p>Harry nods, and when Louis starts walking towards the stairway, he follows. They reach the upstairs area, and Louis continues through the hallway. For a moment, Harry thinks he’ll go to the bedroom, <em>their</em> bedroom, where they slept beside each other before all of this went down.</p>
<p>However, Louis twists his heel towards a door. A door Harry had never seen open; he hadn’t even realized the presence of it, almost camouflaged at the beginning of the hallway, on the wall no one really pays attention to. The door, in fact, it’s locked, before Louis pulls out a key from his pocket.</p>
<p>Harry thinks he may know what it is. “Louis,” He mutters, but Louis doesn’t look at him. He unlocks the door, his fingers shaking and his breathing uneasy.</p>
<p>The wooden door clicks open, a faint sound against the rainfall. Louis hesitates, but he pushes it open. Harry looks into it; it’s a bedroom, quite ordinary, if it wasn’t for the circumstances. There’s a bed, barely made, and everything is coated in dust. The floor, the shelves in the peach-colored walls, the nightstand, and the cupboard at the corner. The desk, the objects, the <em>shoes</em> beside the bed.</p>
<p>It looks abandoned. Harry can’t help the shiver that drives up his spine as he steps inside, carefully, as if not to disturb the ghosts that must live there. He glances back, over his shoulder, to find Louis’ saddened eyes traveling through the space. Harry was right about his assumption, and there’s a sharp strain in his heartstrings. It’s his sister’s bedroom.</p>
<p>“We left everything as it was, after,” Louis hesitates, as if he’s stopping himself from saying it, from admitting it. “After she died.”</p>
<p>Harry steps further inside, the flooring creaking beneath his feet. He doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he turns, looks back at Louis, who seems to be fighting a physical barrier to get inside too. He eventually does, with his arms wrapped around himself for comfort.</p>
<p>There are posters on the walls, all worn-out and crinkled, covered by a thick layer of dirt, and the room itself smells like a place that has been closed and locked for a few years. It’s what it is, really.</p>
<p>It’s a dreading sensation, to be there. Harry feels as if he’s intruding a space that isn’t his. He bites his lips, holding back the emotions as he reminds himself it used to belong to someone, before they were violently taken away.</p>
<p>“Louis,” Harry whispers. The window is so dirty, he can’t see the raindrops, only hear them. “I’m so sorry, about your sister.” He says with sincerity.</p>
<p>Louis barely grins and breathes in deeply. “I’m sorry I hid it from you.” He whispers. “I was scared. I’ve been feeling scared ever since I stepped foot in this town, after so many years.” Louis confesses, glancing around the room, painfully. “I don’t know how to talk about it, Haz. I’m so shit at this,”</p>
<p>Harry smirks slightly, so adored by Louis. “You don’t have to explain it, if you don’t want to. You don’t own me anything.”</p>
<p>“I do,” Louis states, looking up at Harry. “Of course, I do. I <em>want</em> to.” He confesses. “I just don’t know how.” Louis mutters, and there’s an aching strain in his voice, a barely there crack in his tone. Harry senses he’s about to cry, so he rushes closer to him.</p>
<p>Harry envelops Louis into an embrace, and he fits in so well that he’s certain his arms were made to hold Louis close. The smaller man pushes his cheek against his chest, and Harry presses his lips to the top of his hair, taking in everything that is <em>Louis</em>. Is all he’s ever wanted since he had woken up.</p>
<p>“Lou, you’re okay.” Harry assures as soon as he feels Louis’ muffled sob against his rib cage.</p>
<p>“I know.” Louis says. “I just wish it was easier.”</p>
<p>Silence takes over, and there’s just the sounds of the rain, harmonizing with the rise and fall of Louis’ chest inside Harry’s arms. He doesn’t cry for long, but he grasps at the fabric of Harry’s shirt, holding on for dear life. Harry wouldn’t let go, either.</p>
<p>Then, he speaks again. “Lottie was fifteen. She worked at the library, out of all places. She loved reading and she rode this horribly rusty bike every day, from home to school, to work, to home again.” He tells, so quietly that it feels like a secret. Harry listens to every syllable. “We were close. Mum did her best to take care of both of us on her own, she was always busy, and so for most of the time, it was just Lottie and I.”</p>
<p>Harry grins faintly against Louis’ hair. He pictures it, a lovely family of three, bouncing around the old house. Then-</p>
<p>“One night, she was taking too long to come back home. Mum and I went driving around to look for her.” He says, and Harry can feel it coming. His heart is thundering against Louis’ temples, and he can feel Louis’ heartbeat picking up too. He sights achingly. “We found her, just a couple blocks from the library. I saw her bike first, thrown at the side of the road, then,”</p>
<p>Harry closes his eyes. Looking around the room while listening to the story was too hurtful. He’s glad, though, for being allowed to be a part of this story, with Louis. To feel his vulnerability.</p>
<p>“I don’t remember much after that. Think my brain just blocked the rest of it. But it was bad, Hazza. My mum was so strong, she drove us to the station, and I was bawling my eyes out while she was talking to the cops. Nothing ever came out of it, though. They never even named a suspect.” He tells, and sighs softly. Harry doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear fall down his cheek. “I studied through the next few years and was able to get a job at the station. I got to work her case quite closely, but I was fired before I could find anything promising. I don’t think there was much to go on from, anyway.”</p>
<p>Harry pressed his lips at the top of his head, again. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lou.”</p>
<p>After a moment, Louis pulls away just enough to look up at Harry. His blue eyes were wet with tears, but Harry couldn’t help but to be entranced by the sight of him. “Haz,” He mutters. “I didn’t use you.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Harry starts.</p>
<p>“Just, listen to me, please,” He pleads, his smaller hands flying to the back of Harry’s neck. Harry tries to focus on his words, although his fingers tangle in the curls at the back of his head and makes him shiver. “All of it was real.” Louis whispers, breath tickling the edge of Harry’s jaw. “It’s still real <em>for me</em>.”</p>
<p>Harry nods, lost in his eyes. “For me, too.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles. A true one, genuine and so full of light. Harry feels blinded and alive. “Then, that’s all we need, isn’t it?” He whispers. Harry nods, their noses bump.</p>
<p>Amongst all the violence, the mysteries, the secrets, Harry finds truth and comfort there, as he shared the same breath as Louis, and sensing his fingers caress the back of his neck. His own hands have traveled up the other man’s waist, now settled just above his hips. He flies them up to cradle Louis’ jaw, to have him underneath his pale fingers.</p>
<p>Harry wants to kiss him, desperately. “Lou,” He sighs, a question hanging by the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Yes, Haz.” Louis answers, as if he’s reading his mind. He might be; Harry wouldn’t care.</p>
<p>Louis tips his head back, and Harry leans down. They’re already gone by the time their lips touch. Louis sighs into the pressure of their lips against one another, as if the touch had just given him life, the first intake of breath. Harry senses the opposite; he feels as if the kiss had knocked all of the air out of him, and he’s left gasping, breathless. He wouldn’t mind suffocating there, anyway.</p>
<p>They pull close, closer, impossibly closer. It’s not enough, to just kiss amid all the noises of the rain, to grasp and claw at each other’s clothes like they’ll drift apart if they let go. Harry slips his tongue in, and Louis whimpers low in his throat.</p>
<p>Louis tastes like coffee and sweet tea, all mixed under the soft feel of his lips, of his tongue. His cologne is overwhelmingly delicious, and Harry has never felt his nerves grow so close to the edge of his skin. Louis’ fingers pull at his collar, hungrily.</p>
<p>“Haz,” He moans between their lips, and Harry feels vibrant. Louis pulls away, barely. There’s less than an inch between their parted lips. “I want you.” He confesses in the humid atmosphere around them.</p>
<p>“I want you too, so much,” Harry whispers, pressing his lips to the edge of his jaw. It’s what he’s been dreaming about since God-knows how long. It’s heavenly there, where his perfume is stronger, and the scratch of his stubble burns in his lips.</p>
<p>“I mean, like,” Louis mutters, placing a thumb over Harry’s parted, cherry lips. He’s breathtaking. “I want you to <em>stay</em>.” He says. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. Or where we’re going, or else. But I know I want you to <em>stay</em>. With <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>Harry’s heart might as well have fluttered away. “I don’t think I could go without you.” Harry mutters, and it’s true. He’s been wondering about life without him, picturing a near future where Louis’ eyes don’t meet his own on a daily basis. It’s painful. “I’m right here.” Harry says as he takes Louis’ hand, and circles around his fingers with his own fingertips. “You’ve got me.”</p>
<p>Louis smiles again, and Harry might think he’s trapped there too, under the beaming light of his smile. The rain continues to echo inside the room, and there’s a trace of sunlight that threatens to peek through the heavy clouds. Maybe, it’s just Louis.</p>
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<p>Harry learns, quite fast and much to his content, that Louis is the type to pull at his collar at random times during the day, in random places through the house, only to steal kisses from him. Harry can’t complain, honestly. He finds himself in this type of haze whenever Louis comes into view.</p>
<p>It’s energizing. He’s working much more, including Lottie’s case. It’s hard at first, to go through files and to read the interview that Louis gave to the police after his sister passed. He can picture him, a teenager full of youth, devasted by such a tragic event.</p>
<p>However, there’s obvious connections between the cases, they come to realize. The manner of death is the same as the other girls; strangulation, along with stabs and lack of damage to the face. The living room of the house has never been so messy, but so organized at the same time; the investigation board is taking almost the entire wall.</p>
<p>The lack of suspects is driving everyone insane. They have the killer’s DNA, and a profile built from Liam’s experience in behavioral forensics, but aside from that, nothing points them to a direction, let alone a person.</p>
<p>By the end of the week, they have covered everything from Lottie’s case, and successfully connected the cases with solid evidence, and the investigation goes still after that. Liam and Zayn spend most of the days at the station, and Louis stays at the house with Harry, stealing kisses in between readings of reports and evidence analysis. It’s good, but not ideal. Harry has to find a name. A someone.</p>
<p>“Are there any connections in the girls’ personal lives?” Louis’ voice comes like a whisper against the breeze that flies through the living room.</p>
<p>Harry looks up from the stack of papers in his hands. “Not really. All three of them went to different schools, have different friends, different jobs. Almost nothing connects them, except for the way they were murdered.” Harry responds, slightly unsatisfied. “Zayn covered that on the reports he wrote a few days ago. It’s solid.” He says.</p>
<p>“It’s frustrating.” Louis mumbles, leaning back on the old couch. Harry feels the burning of Louis’ eyes on his figure before he sees it. “Hey,” Louis calls.</p>
<p>Harry glances up, once again. Louis’ eyebrow raises up at him. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Can I take you on a date?” He questions. Harry feels his cheeks gaining color with the way his heart thunders fast in his chest. “Like, a proper date. After this is all over.”</p>
<p>Harry can’t fight the smile that cracks his face. “Of course, Lou.”</p>
<p>The detective raises from his seat, and paces slowly towards the other man. Harry swallows, and he can see the sweet darkness in Louis’ eyes from across the room. “Until then,” Louis murmurs, approaching, so agonizingly slow, until he’s placing his hands on Harry’s knees, and leaning in. “Can I have a few more kisses?” He whispers.</p>
<p>Harry feels his skin burning where Louis touches him. His breath gets stuck in his throat, and all he can do is lean forward and capture Louis’ lips with his own. It knocks all the air out of him, and he’s reaching for Louis’ figure, before he knows it.</p>
<p>Grazing the other man’s waist, and pulling him closer, Harry finds his air again when Louis pulls away to speak. “Did you know, I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you?” He mumbles.</p>
<p>Harry chuckles against his lips. Against his smile. “I couldn’t tell, you weren’t your nicest on our first impressions.”</p>
<p>“I was a <em>dickhead</em>, is what you mean,” Louis says, pecking the side of Harry’s mouth, where his dimple deepens.</p>
<p>“You said it, not me.” The investigator groans. Louis presses his lips down Harry’s jaw, right at the same time he straddles him. Harry grips his thighs, pressing him closer. He wants to burn right there, seated underneath Louis’ smile. “Lou,” He moans, his voice edging a whisper.</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Louis says in a similar tone, breathy, low. Harry tries to chase it, mouthing at the column of his throat. “<em>God</em>, I can’t get enough of you,” The smaller man moans.</p>
<p>Harry wants to respond, but he’s trapped under his spell, his breathing erratic, his blood running like fire through his limbs, his chest, his dick. It’s all he can sense; Louis all around him, in his airways, beneath his hands, his cologne enveloping him, his blue eyes pining him down.</p>
<p>Then, Louis stops moving and glances down, his eyes blown with lust. “Fuck, wait,” He says, pauses, then rushes out of Harry’s lap. “The lads are here,”</p>
<p>“What a timing,” Harry mumbles, readjusting his pants. Louis looks at him, fixing his own hair and smiling. They can hear their car’s engines shutting down in the driveway.</p>
<p>“I’m going to give so much shit to Zayn,” Louis whispers, pecking Harry’s lips one more time, before the front door slams open. Liam appears first, a look of urgency in his face. “What?” Louis questions, half annoyed.</p>
<p>“A missing person’s report just got filled at the station.” Liam tells, his brown eyes growing full of concern. Harry’s heart clenches. “It’s a young girl. They’re doing a search party right now.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Dead From The Neck Up</h2></a>
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    <p>As soon as Harry exits the car, stepping into the concrete of the South Road, he notices the light drizzle that falls from the sky. The entire week had been coated in  humid, cloudy weather, and it’s slightly warm despite the rainfalls at night. It wouldn’t be different that day, in that hectic morning. Before noon, Harry, Louis, Liam, and Zayn all arrive together at the starting point of the search party for the missing girl.</p>
<p>Her name is Celeste, they learn. Harry doesn’t quite catch her last name, but it doesn’t really matter for the time being. What captures his attention, and alerts the rest of them too, is her description. Blonde hair, light eyes, pale skin. Around seventeen-years of age. It fits the murderer’s profile for his victims, and although the thought isn’t the least comforting, it motivates Harry to help with the search.</p>
<p>The drizzle leaves a thin layer of droplets on his coat. He wipes it away just as he approaches the search team, about fifty people in a half-circle, waiting for instructions. Harry tries to avoid the shivering sensation that threatens to rise up his spine when he looks up at the trees, swinging in the wind, leaves wet and heavy. He accepts the fact; he’ll never get used to the feeling of being there, surrounded by those woods. He’ll never breathe properly in that road.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Louis voice calls from behind him as they walk towards the group. His tone is light, almost secretive. Harry looks over his shoulder. “You’re sure about this?” He questions. “Being in the search party?”</p>
<p>The investigator ponders for a moment. He notices Louis’ hand gently placed on the small of his back, a thumb caressing his shivers away. “I’m hesitant.” He admits, and it’s true. The last thing he wants is to stumble upon another body, mutilated and bathed by the cold rain. “But there’s nothing else to do. We covered just about everything on all three cases.”</p>
<p>Louis nods and sends a shy grin towards his way. Something in his eyes tell him <em>I’ll be here, regardless of what happens next,</em> and it’s all it takes for Harry to go through the police’s instructions about the search with a bit less weight in his heart.</p>
<p>Cops and volunteers are attentive to the directions; search anywhere, recall your steps and where you’ve looked through, and in case you find anything, don’t touch the victim and call out for the officers. After separating into groups, they split and go about the area around the South Road.</p>
<p>Harry, Louis, Liam, and Zayn all go together. It’s mostly silent as they walk, except for the crackling of the raindrops that fall on the dried leaves, pines, and beaten-up dirt. With eyes fixated on the ground, times runs loose, and the group of four pace until the road is out of sight.</p>
<p>“It feels different.” Louis blurts out after a long moment of quietness.</p>
<p>“What does?” Harry questions.</p>
<p>“This.” He responds, simply. Liam and Zayn, beside the pair, seem attentive to the detective’s words, too. “This girl going missing after such a short time since the last victim.”</p>
<p>“What’s your point?” Zayn asks, before Harry has the opportunity. It’s a great part of his character, the straight-forward thing.</p>
<p>Louis looks up, sharing his gaze between the three men. “My point is, between Claire and Amber, there was almost a two-month gap. It’s been barely three weeks now, since Amber.”</p>
<p>“He’s getting quicker.” Liam points. Harry steps on a twig and it snaps loudly, amid the sounds of the light rain.</p>
<p>Zayn’s breathy chuckle resonates in between the trees. “You guys are talking as if this girl, Celeste, is already dead somewhere.” He comments. Harry winces at the thought of this girl, her body, lying somewhere, waiting to be found.</p>
<p>“If she’s another victim of this killer, then chances are she <em>is</em> already dead. He doesn’t hold them hostage, he kills them in a short period.” Louis says. Harry glances up at the man to distract himself from the thought of it.</p>
<p>There’s a thin layer of humidity coating Louis’ face, reflecting the daylight on his cheekbones. Drizzle falls like freckles on his skin. Harry wants to reach out, to touch his jaw, cradle his features in his hold. He tucks his hands further into his coat’s pockets to stop himself from doing it.</p>
<p>“We shouldn’t give much thought to the time in between the murders.” Harry speaks, voice strong amongst all the noise. “Considering the fact that he killed back in 82 and didn’t kill again until this year.” He points. “It took him nearly ten years to commit murder, again.”</p>
<p>There’s a pause, then Liam’s voice resonates. “A dormant killer.” He tells. “You’re right. Time really isn’t much of a clue with this murderer, not a particularly good one, at least. It’s too irregular.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but the thing is, he’s getting <em>faster</em>, with less time between the killings.” Zayn says. There’s a cigarette between his lips, one that he struggles to remain lit, under the thin drizzle. “Maybe that will lead us to him, if he does get sloppier as well.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to <em>wait</em> for him to <em>decide</em> to get messy.” Louis says, suddenly sharp. All eyes turn to him. Harry, beside him, sees a strain in his features, a twinge of pain. He’s thinking of Lottie; Harry can almost read her name in his eyes. “These girls aren’t bait for our investigation. It has to stop, before any else gets killed.”</p>
<p>“I agree with you, Tommo.” Zayn says. He seems to be the only one that can talk to Louis, despite the sharpness of his tone. “But people will keep dying if his pace is indeed picking up, like we’re saying.”</p>
<p>There’s mostly silence, after that. Harry wants to approach Louis and try to loosen up the knot in his voice, his words, his expression. However, the shorter man only remains walking through the woods, and whenever Harry gets close, he shoots him a faint smile and averts his eyes to the ground. Harry decides to give him space, as they continue with the search.</p>
<p>Hours later, their feet hurt from pacing over irregular grounds, and nothing is found. The group of four returns to the South Road a bit after noon, when the search is called off for that location, the drizzle has been reduced to a cold mist, and Louis’ hand finds its way inside the pocket of Harry’s coat just before they enter the car to go back home.</p>
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<p><em>The</em> <em>South Road Killer</em>, is how the media starts to call him. Harry is infuriated when he sees it, stamped in the front page of the local newspaper. He can barely read the rest of the article without wanting rip the thin paper within his grip.</p>
<p>“This is bad.” Liam mutters. It’s just the morning of the next day, and Celeste hasn’t been found yet, dead or alive. Time seems to be growing slower, denser, and Harry would be lying if he stated he had a good night of sleep, despite being by Louis’ side. He’s certain Louis didn’t catch much of a good rest, either. “When they start giving them names like that, it’s not good.” He says, voice coated in recent sleep.</p>
<p>Zayn sits across from the dining table, picking at the sides of the newspaper, a mug of coffee in his hands. Harry doesn’t look up from the surface of the table, containing his slight irritation inside. “I’m sure he’s loving it, the piece of shit.” Zayn curses. The lack of filter is amusing, Harry can’t deny it.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Liam says. “It’s ridiculous, it gives him the attention he wants.”</p>
<p>Trying to find a positive note for the infuriating event, Harry shrugs, holding his own coffee in between his palms. “I’m hoping that it will at least keep the people out of the street.”</p>
<p>“I hope so too.” Liam sighs, nodding. Outside, from the window across the kitchen, Harry watches the grey day that had been born. There’s no rain, no drizzle, and no sunlight. Just heavy clouds, dark and enigmatic, holding the town hostage. “Oi, is Louis alright?”</p>
<p>Harry takes a moment to realize Liam was asking <em>him</em>, specifically. Zayn’s amused whiskey eyes turn to watch him respond. “Ahn, I think so, yeah.” He mumbles out his response.</p>
<p>“Weird, he hasn’t come downstairs for breakfast yet.” Liam points.</p>
<p>Harry shrugs. “Just tired, I guess. He didn’t want to get up when I tried to wake him.”</p>
<p>Zayn’s quiet chuckle circles the air around them. “Lazy bastard,”</p>
<p>Then, there’s something else that settles in the atmosphere. Harry can feel it, the questions rising, lingering, in space inside the cozy, old kitchen. It feels palpable, like either of them can reach out and grab it. Of course, Zayn and his upfront personality grabs it. “You got lucky, didn’t ya?” He says, smirking behind his coffee mug.</p>
<p>Liam bites his lips to hold his own amused chuckle. Harry can feel the hot blood rising to his face. “What do you mean?” He asks, stumbling over his own voice.</p>
<p>“With Louis.” Zayn says, nonchalant. His long lashes barely bat at the sight of Harry’s incredulous blushing. “What? Like we don’t know the old Tommo well enough to realize it as soon as he introduced us to you. We’re not here to judge, alright. I’m happy he found someone.”</p>
<p>Harry wants to absolutely disappear off the face of the Earth; but he also wants to stay there, fixated, and watch Louis’ friends – which are quickly becoming his <em>own</em> friends – accept the entire situation with light hearts and kind eyes. It’s relieving. Harry feels somewhat safe. Times are difficult, cruel, for people like him. For people like <em>them</em>.</p>
<p>“A cute duo, you two make.” Liam comments, much to Harry’s increasing embarrassment. It’s a good embarrassment, though. Like he’s a teenager caught with a crush. He feels that way, with Louis; full of youth and light. “Tied any knots, yet?” Liam asks, and Zayn laughs out loud.</p>
<p>Harry can’t hold his own smile, taken by the pleasant presence of his new friends. “I have no idea what <em>that’s</em> supposed to mean,” He tells, half chuckling. “Anyway, I’ll go check on him, make sure he hasn’t starved to death.” The investigator says as he rises from his chair, leaving his empty cup behind.</p>
<p>“Alright, you do that. Liam and I will head to the station in a bit.” Zayn tells. His words make Harry remember about Celeste, makes him wonder too deep, too fast. He coughs, returning to pay attention to him. “We’ll let you know if anything happens, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Thank you, lads.” Harry grins, and retracts himself towards the stairway. On the hallway to the rooms, he lets his fingertips graze the closed door to Lottie’s bedroom, as if trying to figure out ways to help Louis cope with whatever is going on with him.</p>
<p>The thing is, Louis isn’t as alright as Harry had told Liam. It took him hours to manage to fall asleep, and Harry felt every time he shifted inside his arms. When he finally slept, he mumbled through the night, and woke a couple times in a cold sweat. Harry feels tired from the whole ordeal that didn’t allow him to rest much either, but his concern for Louis was greater than any lack of energy.</p>
<p>With a bit of caffeine settling in his system by then, Harry enters the room quietly, finding Louis still snoring softly in the darkness behind the closed curtains. The bedroom smelled of Louis’ cologne and his own, mixed together, as their clothes and objects now shared the same space, like they shared the same bed.</p>
<p>He paces through the poorly lit room, across the flooring and sits carefully on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, but Louis’ sleeping figure barely moves. Harry reaches out, caresses the man’s face softly, a thumb wiping under his eyes, long fingers up in his tousled fringe. He’s absolutely the most beautiful thing Harry has ever seen. “Lou,” He mumbles, but the noise is carried away from Louis’ senses. “Lou, hey,” He whispers.</p>
<p>Louis stirs vaguely, and his eyes flutter open, so slowly and endearing. “Hm?” He hums, hands reaching for Harry.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” Harry murmurs with a smile, lazy fingers meeting his thigh, resting beside Louis’ hip.</p>
<p>“What time is it?” Louis mumbles, barely audible.</p>
<p>“Almost ten.” Harry answers, leaning down to peck the side of his head. “Don’t want to get up yet?” He asks, and Louis shakes his head against the lonesome pillow.</p>
<p>“Come here,” Louis whispers, his long lashes blinking upwards at Harry, making it an offer impossible to refuse. Not that Harry wouldn’t take the opportunity, anyways.</p>
<p>In the dimmed room, Harry moves to settle his head on the surface of Louis’ chest, tangling their legs underneath the thin blankets. His fingers seek for Louis’ and they meet on top of Louis’ hipbone. Harry glances up, and finds Louis’ eyes half closed, parted and empty. “You alright, Lou?” He asks, already knowing the answer.</p>
<p>There’s a moment of hesitation, or perhaps just tiredness, on Louis’ part. “Been thinking a lot about Lottie, lately. It’s all.” He tells, and although the revelation is saddening, it makes Harry glad that he trusts him enough to say it. “And the other girls. It’s just sad, to think about it.”</p>
<p>Harry nods against his sternum. He’s more than familiarity with the idea of losing sleep over a case and can’t imagine how Louis must feel with an investigation that evolves his little sister’s murderer.</p>
<p>“We’ll figure it all out. Liam and Zayn were just heading to the station and they said they’ll bring news if anything happens.” Harry tells, just to fill the silence, and to speak against Louis skin. He senses the other man’s hand moving to the top of his head, caressing his curls, his scalp. His eyes flutter closed at the touch. “Everything will be alright.” He whispers, finally.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Louis mumbles, planting a kiss to his curls. Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ middle, pressing closer, pulling, breathing in his presence. It’s intoxicating, in the best way possible. He wishes he could stop the time, remain there, in that sunless, cloudy day, and hold Louis in the darkness of the old bedroom.</p>
<p>“Haz?” He calls, gently. Always so gentle. Harry looks up, his nose grazing the edge of his chiseled jaw. When he does, he captures Harry’s lips as he ducks down. It takes Harry by surprise, lovingly though. He sighs into the kiss, leaning forward and lifting to a more comfortable position. His lips are soft, so warm, and he tastes coffee and lemon tea. When they pull away, Harry glances down to find Louis’ bright eyes, shimmering with something else. Something new.</p>
<p>Louis untangles his fingers from where they hold onto one another and rises his palms to cradle Harry’s face. He tucks a loose curl behind his ear. Harry feels as if Louis is going to say something; there’s words hanging by the corner of his mouth, a breath waiting to leave through his voice, but he just pulls him down and kisses Harry again. He doesn’t complain.</p>
<p>Harry shifts himself on the mattress, placing his knees on the either side of Louis’ hips. The blankets lift with him, and Harry senses Louis’ legs bending, rising, and when he drives his hands down, he feels shivers coating Louis’ thighs. He wants to be locked there, stuck in the forever warmth of Louis and his aura. Green eyes look down, staring at wet, cherry parted lips. “Lou,” He calls, because that’s all that he finds in his mind. A mess of <em>Louis, Louis, Louis.</em></p>
<p>“I’m here,” Louis moans back, and Harry nods as if he’s lost him out of sight. Ducking down again, Harry directs his lips to Louis’ neck. The reaction is almost instant, and it’s addicting. Louis tilts his head back, a humming noise stuck in the hollow of his chest, as Harry mouths over his pulse, over his throat. “Harry,” He moans, and it’s all that Harry wants to hear, for the rest of his existence.</p>
<p>He moves lower, kissing down Louis’ chest, fighting the urge to leave marks and love bites across the arch of his clavicles. He can hear Louis breathing, losing sense of the world around them, and he can kiss above his heartbeat. When he presses his lips to the low of his abdomen, Harry feels Louis’ hands reach for his biceps, and tugging him upwards. His curls dance across his forehead as he follows, digging his elbows on either side of Louis’ head, into the pillow they share.</p>
<p>“Stay here,” Louis says, so quietly that the walls swallow his voice. “Want you here. Want to see you.” He continues, and Harry remains, letting his lips fall on Louis’ jaw for a moment.</p>
<p>Then, he feels Louis’ hands moving lower, his fingers grasping his hipbones, and tugging him down. Down <em>against</em> himself. “Oh,” One of them moans; at this point, Harry can’t tell. He’s breathless when Louis grinds him down, pressing their hips and erections together. It’s a slow drag, a barely-there sense of movement, but it swells everything in him. Louis is just in his trousers, and he’s in sweatpants that are thin enough to feel the outline Louis’ hard cock.</p>
<p>“Lou, oh,” Harry moans, breathing against Louis’ neck.</p>
<p>The other man groans, pulling him down further, his grip growing tighter. “You’re wonderful, so beautiful,” He speaks, words tumbling out of his mouth followed by low moans. He glances up when Harry raises himself. Green eyes meet blue, and Harry sees desperation, the sweetest kind of helplessness. He moves his hips, circling slow and deep, and Louis’ eyes flutter closed. “<em>God</em>, Harry,” He groans.</p>
<p>Harry continues to move, chasing the sensations and setting their skins on fire. He feels hormonal, almost helpless too, completely given to the physicality of the moment. His body is aching, begging for more, and every time he looks down and sees that glimpse of passion and lust in Louis’ eyes, he loses his breath. He takes the opportunity to duck down again, kiss Louis, breathe into him, taste his tongue and nibble at his bottom lip.</p>
<p>“Haz, I’m,” Louis moans when Harry pulls away. His hands are grasping Harry’s biceps, scratching, digging into his muscles. It’s all Harry has ever needed. “If we don’t stop, I’m,” He tries to tell, but only another moan tumbles out.</p>
<p>“Yeah, me too,” Harry admits with more rolls of his hips. The dry grinding is picking up to a dirtier rhythm, and it almost makes the bed creak underneath them. Louis locks his ankles behind Harry’s thighs, trapping him there. “Do you want to stop?” Harry whimpers.</p>
<p>“No, no,” Louis groans, tilting his head back and grasping at Harry’s curls. “<em>Please</em>, don’t, I’m,”</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Lou,” Harry assures, because he wants nothing but to feel Louis’ release. He moves a bit faster, deeper, and swallows the sounds Louis makes as he kisses the corner of his parted mouth. “Let go, it’s okay,” He says, shuffling one of his hands down, and presses it in between their erections. Palm down, he touches Louis’ clothed cock, feels the warmth of it against his fingers.</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>Harry</em>,” Louis moans, finally, and he comes. Harry feels it under his touch, the pulse of his cock, the sudden hot wetness that takes over Louis’ clothes. Silently, he watches Louis’ face twist in pleasure, eyes stuck in his direction, his jaw falling slack as his orgasm takes over. Harry adores the way he falls apart, so easily and so truthfully. He can see the edge of his soul in the tears that gather around his blue eyes.</p>
<p>He’s so distracted in Louis’ affected features, it takes him a second to feel Louis’ hand sneaking under the waistband of his pants, his fingers circling around his throbbing cock. All Louis does is look up at him, eyes ruined and tousled hair, and jerk him once, twice, and then he’s coming too. Harry’s orgasm washes over him like a wave in dry sand. He absorbs the shocks of it, and he twitches above Louis’ beautiful body, his arms shaking and his head falling against Louis forehead.</p>
<p>“That’s it, so wonderful,” Louis whispers at some point, Harry can’t sense when it happens. But it does, and it drives him to a place of peace, of utter and pure bliss, as he pecks the tip of Louis’ nose.</p>
<p>There’s come seeping through his clothes, but he doesn’t mind it in that moment, and when Louis takes his hand out of his pants, there’s remains of his orgasm coating his fingertips. He brings it up to his mouth, and glides it over his tongue, over his lips. Harry can’t do anything but to watch in amazement, completely lost in the sight. Then, Louis <em>smiles</em> at the taste of it, at the taste of <em>Harry</em>.</p>
<p>“Oh, my <em>God</em>,” Harry moans, letting himself fall on top of Louis, pressing his face on his neck.</p>
<p>“Too much?” Louis says, his tone full of amusement. He’s excessively appealing. Harry doesn’t know if he’ll be able to survive <em>more</em> than this.</p>
<p>He shifts his weight to the side, falling on the mattress and letting his muscles relax. Louis follows the movement, throwing one leg over Harry’s slim waist. “Never too much. Can’t get too much of you.” Harry mutters sincerely.</p>
<p>Louis smiles, the afterglow of the moment lingering around his expression. Harry’s in a haze, and he swears he sees a pair of wings and a halo, gleaming in the darkened bedroom behind Louis’ frame.</p>
<p>Everything will be alright. <em>They</em> will be alright, as long as they have one another.</p>
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<p>Celeste is found, later that day.</p>
<p>Everything becomes a blur from the moment the sun starts to set, at the end of the afternoon. All Harry knows, is that the living room is messy, bathed in the orange tones shyly peeking behind cloudy weather. He’s got Louis’ legs above his own as they read useless papers, waiting for just about anything to happen. Then, Liam and Zayn pull up to the driveway, brakes screeching and slamming the door open, telling them hurriedly, to get in the car.</p>
<p>On the way, Liam is on the wheel, and Zayn tells them what went down. Harry’s heart is beating fast, and he notices immediately the familiar path Liam is taking; towards the South Road. His first instinct is to feel angry; the papers will just love that headline. Then, his stomach is burning with anxiety.</p>
<p>Zayn tells them that Celeste is dead. However, not quite the way they expected. She’s got a bullet in the back of the head, and she died bleeding on a place Harry and Louis know quite well; Celeste died in Daniel Wilson’s property.</p>
<p>When they learn of this, Louis immediately turns silent. Completely quiet, but barely peaceful. Harry can see it, in the rims of his eyes, the anger creeping out and slipping between his eyelashes. Neither of the three dare to speak to Louis, not until Liam finally arrives at the property.</p>
<p>There are cop cars surrounding the woods, the trees changing color under the flashing of blue and red lights. Harry wants to throw up, but he concentrates on the job. He never loses sight of Louis, too. He’s so quiet, it’s scary. He doesn’t even bring his camera out.</p>
<p>Harry tries searching for a familiar face in between the groups of officers and other workers. He finds Stan, somewhere around Daniel’s front porch. Harry approaches without much ceremony. “Sheriff,” He mumbles, his heart nearly tumbling out of his mouth.</p>
<p>Stan is quicker, though. He simply nods and pulls the evidence tape up, allowing the group of four to enter the place. Daniel’s cabin is in an ordinary state, the usual mess Harry had seen the last time he’d been there. There’s nothing much out of place, until Stan leads them to the backyard, after crossing the entire cabin from the inside.</p>
<p>From a distance, Harry spots her. She’s lying in the wet ground, close by the trees’ roots at the very back of the yard. The girl is on her stomach, and there’s blood staining most of her almost-white hair.</p>
<p>“She was shot, execution style.” Stan tells, voice strained. Liam turns away with a pained expression, and Zayn only takes a few steps closer to her body, before turning away too, a hand up in his hair in distress.</p>
<p>Harry isn’t so far off from doing something similar. He fights the urge to run away, take off to the middle of the woods, and maybe find some sort of peace there. He’s sure he wouldn’t, though. Part of her face can be seen on the side, and the bullet seemed to have lodged in her skull, since there were no visible exit wound Harry wonders how the killer still managed to not damage her face, despite the brutal execution.</p>
<p>“Where’s Daniel?” Harry asks, averting his eyes to the ground besides Celeste, where there’s no blood staining the dirt.</p>
<p>Stan sighs. “We don’t know. Most likely, on the run.” The Sheriff tells. Louis remains silent, hands stuck inside his pockets, beside Harry. “We already sent officers to the town’s exit roads. We’re hoping he won’t be gone for long.”</p>
<p>“How did they find her? Here, in his property?” Harry questions. The wind carries away his voice, almost, and he can barely hear himself amid the sounds of the ruffling woods.</p>
<p>“We had a search warrant prepared, in case anyone else went missing. After all the suspicion over him, it would be naïve to not keep him in check. The officers found her a couple hours ago. He wasn’t home anymore, they had to break in.” Stan responds, and there’s frustration in his tone.</p>
<p>Harry feels the same as he sounds. As if he’d let a criminal slip through his fingers, taking a couple lives along with his escape. Harry senses guilt rising up his esophagus.</p>
<p>“It was Daniel.” Louis whispers, so low that Harry barely catches it. “It was Daniel, all along.” He says. Both Stan and Harry glance at him, watching his anger and remorse hang by his lips. A breeze runs past, ice cold, a wave of realization coming with it. Daniel killed the girls. He killed <em>Lottie.</em></p>
<p>Harry shivers at the thought, and immediately comprehends Louis’ silence, although he can’t imagine the state his mind must be in. Sometimes, when working in cases that drag for so long, and take so much from you, finding the killer rarely feels like a relief. The guilt, the culpability that comes with it is greater than any sense of accomplishment.</p>
<p>Judging by Louis’ eyes, empty and lost in the sight of the fresh crime scene, Harry knows that putting a name to the killer won’t make Louis breathe in any kind of positive way.</p>
<p>“We will find him, Louis.” Stan says, sympathetically. Louis doesn’t reply the kindness, and Harry doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t even think Louis is in the same mental realm as them.</p>
<p>So, Harry responds for him, grinning towards Stan. “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll be at the station tomorrow, first thing in the morning. To finish up this investigation.” He says, and it doesn’t feel like a relief either.</p>
<p>“No, I’ll go.” Louis says, not a space for doubt in his tone.</p>
<p>Harry gazes down at him, hoping he can find sense in his empty features. “Louis, I can-“</p>
<p>“<em>Harry</em>,” He says, almost warningly. Harry swallows a bitter lump in his throat. “I’ll go. I need to be there, to at least, to finish this.” Louis tells, shooting a brief glance upwards. Harry sees it in his eyes, a pleading twinge, edging desperation.</p>
<p>Harry only nods, and then silence takes over. For a moment.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Stan says with a saddened grin on his lips. He retracts himself, planting a slight pat on Louis’ shoulder, and pacing back towards the cabin.</p>
<p>“Please, don’t push me away.” Harry mutters, only for Louis and the woods to hear him.</p>
<p>Louis turns, eyes wet. Amid all the anger, the decade of pain and remorse, the mystery that took his sister’s life, Louis manages to smile; weakly, yet so lovingly, that Harry wants to kiss him right there. “I’m not, I swear. I just really want to finish this. I <em>need</em> to.” He confesses.</p>
<p>Harry wants to protest. He wants to question out loud. There’s something else that doesn’t fit in the entire narrative; Daniel might be a criminal, but his DNA didn’t match the one collected from the previous girls. There’s not much of a motive anywhere in this story. The style of killing also doesn’t make much sense. There’s hurry in Celeste’s killing, despite her being left <em>there</em>, in his property.</p>
<p>But the investigator doesn’t say it out loud. There’s too much emptiness in Louis’ demeanor, and he’s afraid more questions will turn him into a human void. Too much, he thinks. Not the time. “Let’s go <em>home</em>, Lou.” He says, offering his hand for Louis to take. When their fingers meet, he almost forgets about everything, for a second. Almost.</p>
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<p>More notes are added to the investigation board, that night.</p>
<p>Most of the writings are questions circling Harry’s head. Liam also adds a few of his own. Much like Harry, he finds it odd the way Celeste was killed and where her body was left. Too many questions for a case that should be done. They have a name, a profile, a body in a property. It’s obvious, almost <em>too obvious</em>, and it still doesn’t click the right way.</p>
<p>“What about after they find him?” Liam asks behind his glass of whiskey. He said some while ago that he doesn’t drink often, since it gave him problems to quit, but Harry won’t bring it up. It’s a rainy night, their case is almost complete, and he had just seen a girl lying on dirt with a bullet in the back of her head.</p>
<p>“Daniel, you mean?” Harry says just as a distant thunder roars faintly. Liam nods. “We’ll interview him. Try to get a confession. If he refuses, we’ll have to pair up with the lawyers and make our case strong enough to classify his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.” He tells.</p>
<p>Liam hums, quietly, lips dry from the alcohol. He sips one, two times, then speaks; “It feels weird, doesn’t it? To say it’s done, when there’s so many questions, still.”</p>
<p>Another thunder sings in the far end of the town. Harry shivers. “I agree with you, but we can’t think too much ahead of it, now. It doesn’t depend totally on us, anymore.” He says, voice coated in weariness. He doesn’t realize how tired he really is until he glances at the clock on the wall, marking almost eleven.</p>
<p>“How’s Louis, by the way?” Liam asks. Harry wishes he didn’t.</p>
<p>“As well as you can imagine.” He responds with a strain in his heart. “He wants to finish the case, basically all by himself. I can’t tell him no, giving his sister, but I’m worried about him.” He confesses. He barely cares that he’s being vulnerable to a tipsy Liam. He almost feels drunk, himself, despite not drinking at all.</p>
<p>“You know, back in Manchester, Louis always takes the lead on the toughest cases. You just <em>have</em> to see it for yourself. He’s persistent, he gives chances to cases people consider hopeless. On our department, he’s the one we run to when the leads are running dry.” Liam tells, and it makes Harry’s chest tighten.</p>
<p>He barely ever got the chance to wonder about Louis in his workplace, in Manchester. Perhaps. because it leads him to thinking that eventually, he’ll have to say goodbye to him. It’s painful enough, even if temporarily.</p>
<p>“He’s quite a strong lad. Tough to break and all. He will be alright, with time.” Liam continues, and it soothes Harry’s concern, on the surface. He grins at the man, feeling suddenly grateful at their connection. He missed having friends.</p>
<p>“I hope you’re right.” Harry tells him as the rain starts to get stronger, raindrops thicker. Zayn pops back inside the house when the front porch is no longer a comfort hiding spot for the rain, and he joins Liam in a drink.</p>
<p>Harry decides to leave them to it, and after saying he’s done for the night, he walks upstairs. The hallway is silent, like always, and he thinks about how he’ll miss this place once the case is done for good. In those few steps he takes to reach the bedroom, Harry recalls the first few weeks he was in town, stranded in the old hotel, until Louis entered the picture, then his house, and everything else that completely overwhelmed him with nostalgia.</p>
<p>He twists the doorknob to the bedroom, and finds Louis sitting in the tiny single bed, legs crossed, eyes lost in photographs he holds in his trembling fingers. He glances up once Harry steps inside, a shy smirk taking over his features. He’s so beautiful that Harry loses his breath every time he catches him off guard; so wonderfully distracted.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Louis mutters, voice as small as a child. “Come check these out.”</p>
<p>Harry approaches, steps muffled by the rain that pours outside, and sits beside him. Louis rests his head on his shoulder, as he shuffles through the photos. The pictures are old, yellowish at the corners, but the pictures are clear enough; Harry makes out Louis’ features in a child, and in most images, there’s a young girl with him. Her hair is as bright as sunlight, and so is her smile. Lottie is pictured mostly hugging their mother or being embraced by Louis.</p>
<p>Harry wonders if those pictures hold the reason Louis had gotten into photography, perhaps, to feel closer to Lottie.</p>
<p>“You both look adorable.” Harry mumbles, feeling his chest swell; Louis is allowing him into a very personal, emotional space of his life. The realization makes him want to fly away from the town, take Louis with him, and chase the horizon and its colors.</p>
<p>Louis smiles against his shoulder. “We were such little monsters, whenever we got together.” He whispers, tucking the photos back into a small stack. “I miss her, more than anything.” He admits, voice even lower.</p>
<p>Harry wraps his arms around Louis, pulling him closer. “It’s almost over, Lou.” He murmurs, kissing the top of his hair.</p>
<p>“I know.” Louis sighs into the embrace. There’s another distant lighting, and it lights up the room for a split second. It feels like the world is watching them. “Harry, I,” Louis speaks against Harry’s chest. “After tomorrow, I’m going back to Manchester.”</p>
<p>Harry closes his eyes, and there it is; the strain on his heart that aches and burns, the subject Harry has been avoiding thinking with himself. Hearing it from Louis, directly, feels like heartbreak. “Okay,” He says quietly, not knowing what else to say. His lungs feel thick and stuck in his throat.</p>
<p>“And,” Louis whispers, glancing up. “I know you have your own life in London, and I don’t want to intrude or pull you away from it. But I want to see you again, somewhere.” He tells, his tone coated in a faint twinge of hope. Harry’s heart picks up when Louis sits up and looks at him in the eyes, peeking the sheer edge of his soul. “I’ve been living in pieces of my past for so long, Harry. I’m almost on my thirties and just now, I feel like I can see clearer. Now, I picture my future, and I see you in it.”</p>
<p>Harry feels as if Louis had just taken his heart and placed it in fire. But it doesn’t burn away, doesn’t hurt. It’s only <em>warm</em>. “Lou,” He murmurs, choking on his own voice.</p>
<p>Louis laces his hands around his jaw, eyes glistening in the dim room. He’s beautiful. “I’ve known you for a little bit, but I feel like there’s so many things for us to live through, together.” He tells, and there’s a glint of a tear in his eye. Harry doesn’t think he’s too different himself. “I think you’re my person, in a way.”</p>
<p>All the worry, the hesitation, and the strained heartbreak; everything goes away slowly, dissipating at every syllable that exits through Louis’ voice.</p>
<p>“I feel the same.” Harry whispers, so sincerely that he thinks his chest is actually torn open, and Louis can <em>see</em> his heart, his ribcage, all coated in truth and adoration. “<em>God</em>, Louis, I want you in my life.” He confesses.</p>
<p>Louis smiles, pushing away all the thunder and lighting, scaring away the murders, the gore, the violence. “I’m here. And I won’t leave as long as you want me.” He says, finally, and pulls Harry forward in a passionate kiss.</p>
<p>It’s different. Harry can taste it differently, now. It’s beyond the physical touch, the palpable sensation of Louis’ lips on his. He can taste the promises, concrete and genuine. He can taste his future, right there, on the tip of their tongues. Raindrops get thicker and heavier outside; Harry’s heart couldn’t be lighter.</p>
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<p>With a kiss that tastes like fresh coffee, Louis leaves to the station early in the morning. Liam and Zayn join the trip to gather everything they’ve been collecting at the station too, and Harry is left alone in the house to organize whatever he can, before they all leave town.</p>
<p>It feels surreal, to be putting his clothes back in his suitcase, to leave the bedroom as it was when he arrived. He walks through the rooms, picking up pieces of his existence that linger around the old house.</p>
<p>It’s bittersweet. He’s leaving tomorrow, and parting ways with Louis, but only temporarily. However, since the previous night, Harry feels a sense of security when he thinks about his relationship with Louis. He’s sad to leave that place, but excited for whatever the future may hold for him. For <em>them</em>.</p>
<p>His mind is a thousand miles away. He thinks about Louis meeting his mother, about himself meeting Louis’ mother, and getting to know Louis more each day. He wonders how it will be when they’ve fallen into a routine, like a proper couple, and how their interactions will be now that there’s not a working link connecting them.</p>
<p>There’s a twinge of fear somewhere in those thoughts; a fear that Louis won’t enjoy his presence as much after this, or that it won’t be as easy. Maybe he’s not the person Louis expected him to be, outside of those circumstances. Harry manages to shake the negative feelings off, though.</p>
<p>He’s upstairs, lingering in the forever silent hallway, when he hears loud knocks on the door.</p>
<p>Hesitant but curious, Harry paces down the stairs, the knocks seeming to echo endlessly around the old house. He answers the door, and his lungs fill with relief at meeting a pair of familiar eyes. “Oh, good morning, Sheriff.” He greets.</p>
<p>“Styles!” Stan says. “I’m sorry to show up so suddenly. Louis is at the station, and he forgot Charlotte’s evidence box here, he told me.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” Harry says, opening the door further and allowing Stan inside. “Of course, I’ll grab it for you. Please, come in.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” The Sheriff grins kindly, pacing inside the house, slowly, almost hesitantly. “I didn’t know he was staying at his old place. Quite the spot, huh?” He says, his voice resonating inside the house.</p>
<p>Harry smiles, his own chuckle tumbling out of his mouth. “Indeed,” He agrees casually, and paces towards the living room, the Sheriff trailing behind quietly. Everything is still a mess there, and he was just about to start cleaning everything up before Stan showed up.</p>
<p>“You lads really did put a lot of effort into this case,” Stan comments as soon as his eyes find the investigation board on the large wall.</p>
<p>Harry glances too, his mind drifting along the elements pinned there. “Any sight of Daniel yet, by the way?” He asks.</p>
<p>Stan presses his lips into a thin line; the same frustrating frown takes over his features. “Not yet. We’re hoping he’ll show up in the surrounding cities. We send an alert for him, already.” He tells.</p>
<p>Harry nods, sighting. “Well, I hope he pops up soon.” He says simply and starts scrambling through the mess in the living room, looking for Charlotte’s box. “It has be here, somewhere.” He mutters to himself quietly, and frustration starts building in his chest when he doesn’t find it after a few minutes.</p>
<p>Then, his mind flashes a recent memory.</p>
<p>Louis <em>did</em> take Charlotte’s box to the station. Harry saw it in his hands before he left.</p>
<p>“Sheriff, I don’t think it’s here, I’m almost sure Louis took it-“ Harry tells, the faint smile on his face slowly fading away as he turns around.</p>
<p>His heart drops to his stomach, and his breathing stops, altogether. Harry is staring at the barrel of a handgun, pointed towards his head. Stan’s malicious eyes are shadowy behind the sight of his fingers on the trigger.</p>
<p>“Turn around, Styles.” Stan says, the kindness leaving his features, and there’s nothing but evil and darkness spread across his face.</p>
<p>“Stan-” Harry tries to say. His hands are shaking uncontrollably, his throat is thick, and he struggles understand the situation. His mind is screaming at him, survival instincts throbbing in his brain, but he can’t move an inch.</p>
<p>“I said. Turn. Around.” Stan orders, voice unwavering. There’s cruelty and not a twinge of hesitation in the firm hand that holds the weapon towards Harry’s petrified figure. “Now, Styles!” He screams once Harry falters to comply.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Harry whispers, the old house swallows it entirely. He turns around, slowly, and all he can glance at is the investigation board; the gory pictures of the girls, the red threads connecting the clues, and an emptiness in his chest. He <em>failed</em>.</p>
<p>Before he can gather any more thoughts, there’s a sharp pain in the back of his head, and his body goes limp under the hit. He falls to the floor right before his eyes shut closed, and all consciousness slips away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. There Comes A Darkness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When his senses start to return, Harry can feel his limbs jostling within a tight, closed space.</p>
<p>The place where he lays shakes, rattles, and rumbles underneath his frame. Groaning at the throbbing pain in the back of his head, he tries to move, but finds that his wrists have been tightly tied behind his back. His eyes barely need adjustment as they open; surrounded by darkness, stuck in the overwhelming warmth of his imprisonment. Harry feels like an animal, trapped and helpless, as the vehicle he’s in continues to move, bringing him along to its unknown destination.</p>
<p>In that obscurity, Harry fights the involuntary rhythm of his lungs as he puts his breathing under control. He thinks, tries to remember what had just occurred. When it finally comes to him, he wishes he could fall back into unconsciousness.</p>
<p>He wants to cry, wants to fight, to kick and claw his way out of that place. However, he’s too familiar with situations like these. Except, he has never been the victim. The best he can do is tame his panic and breathe deeply. He doesn’t fight his restrains, and only waits.</p>
<p>The car comes to a stop, then. When the engine dies under him, the silence is overwhelming. Fright rises up his throat, but he swallows it back down. There’s the sound of a car door, opening and slamming shut, and footsteps approaching. Light finds its way into the darkness of the vehicle’s trunk, and it hits Harry’s figure like cold water. He flinches, eyes hurting, head pounding.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re awake already,” Stan says under his breath. The wind carries it away, barely. Harry wants to scream, but the glint of Stan’s handgun reflects against his face. “Don’t try anything. Get out and be good.” He orders, and Harry complies, silently.</p>
<p>Tall trees and a familiar cold breeze circle them. Harry recognizes it before he steps out of the car’s trunk; they’re on the South Road, but where exactly, he can’t tell. That is, until he gazes up behind Stan. The abandoned gas station stands strong, firm, and unmerciful, almost awaiting with its mouth open, sharp teeth exposed.  </p>
<p>“Inside.” Stan demands as he grabs ahold of the restraints behind his back, pushing him towards the building. A mixture of feelings sits low in Harry’s gut, but he focuses on the situation, and follows Stan’s order before he has to repeat it.</p>
<p>Echoes of their footsteps above cracked rocks and old concrete resonate inside the large place. Harry keeps his head down, biting his lips until he tastes blood. He’s desperately afraid, but there’s a bitterness that edges anger in his system.</p>
<p>Now, Harry puts the pieces together, and he can picture it as clear as day; he has a face to connect to the killer he’s been chasing. It’s Stan’s features, painted in blood. He thinks of Claire, Amber, Celeste. <em>Lottie.</em></p>
<p>“You,” Harry murmurs. “You did it.”</p>
<p>Stan groans, almost annoyed to hear Harry’s voice. When they cross the largest area inside the building, amidst ruins and plants crawling their way through the concrete, Stan pushes Harry to the ground, forcing him to fall on his legs.</p>
<p>“Took you a while, innit?” He says, as loudly as he can, as he wants, because they’re somewhere no one will hear. Harry tries to not dread at the thought. “How’s your head, by the way? I had to strike hard, you’re a big lad.” Stan speaks, his tone condescending. He grasps the back of Harry’s head, harshly, and it makes Harry wince in pain. When Stan pulls his hand away, he catches a glimpse of blood staining his skin.</p>
<p>It doesn’t dawn on Harry until he sees the dark, scarlet stains, that there’s a high possibility that he might die. The thought is enough to make him completely alert, and ignoring the pain, he decides to stall, as much as he can.</p>
<p>“Why?” He asks, looking up to meet Stan’s cold expression.</p>
<p>The Sheriff rolls his eyes, pushing Harry back by his shoulders. His back hits a large piece of concrete, his gasp of pain echoing for seconds through the space. “So bloody annoying, you are. Do you really want to know, or is that your investigator brain working?” He asks, pressing the muzzle of his handgun repeatedly against Harry’s forehead as he talks.</p>
<p>Harry tries to not shudder visibly. “Why, Stan?” He questions again, hoping it will be enough.</p>
<p>It turns out to be enough.</p>
<p>“This town. This place, Styles. I’m sure you’ve felt it while you were here. It drives you mad.” The Sheriff starts, his tone obscure and disturbed. “You wouldn’t understand how it feels, growing up here. Louis does, though. He knows how it feels.” He tells, and Harry’s heart drops.</p>
<p><em>Louis</em>. He hasn’t thought about Louis until then. He wants to cry at the possibility that Stan might have hurt Louis, somehow. In the seconds of silence, Harry plans his next words, feeling as if he’s interrogating another criminal. In a way, he is. “How does it feel, Stan?” He questions.</p>
<p>A vile glint takes over Stan’s gaze as he looks down at Harry. “It feels like hell. Life isn’t fair for most of us. I was miserable, growing up.” He tells, not offering much detail. “And Louis. <em>Yes</em>, Louis was there. We grew up together, and I had to see his perfect little family bounce around like this town is a paradise. He was a good friend, most of the time.”</p>
<p>“Why did you kill Lottie?” Harry blurts out, not standing the way Stan says Louis’ name, like it’s a curse. He wants to know, to understand, and to distract himself at the thought of his near death. He eyes the handgun every couple of seconds. It’s forgotten amid Stan’s fingers, like a ring he’d forgot to take off. It drives Harry to be completely aware.</p>
<p>Stan doesn’t hide his hatred for the question. He leans down, looking straight through Harry, poking shivers in his soul. “You talk too much, Styles.” He whispers, and Harry barely predicts what comes next.</p>
<p>The Sheriff places his weapon on his gun holder, and with a closed, tight fist, takes a strike towards Harry’s frame. It hits him square in the jaw, and it aches sharply all across his cheekbone. Harry’s head whips aside by the blow, and before he can recover from whiplash of the hit, another arrives at the opposite side of his face. Harry shouts, unable to control his vocal chords as he feels his skin clashing against his bones. Stan finishes it with a kick on the side of his ribcage.</p>
<p>There’s a chuckle somewhere in the area, echoing, and Harry winces and whimpers against the concrete. His eyes are watering, and the blurry sight of Stan laughing down at him brings a shudder to his core.</p>
<p>“That was fun, for now.” Stan comments, a smile still in his features. “Just to lighten the mood, you have to know, the whole thing with Lottie was an accident.”</p>
<p>Harry feels warm blood trickle down his cheek, trailing down his jaw. His fear turns to anger. “No, it wasn’t,” He says, spitting the metallic-tasting, thin blood that collects on the inside of his lip. “She was mutilated, cut, <em>tortured</em> before she died. By your hands. That’s no <em>fucking</em> accident.” Harry hisses.</p>
<p>Stan steps closer and grabs Harry’s jaw firmly, making him wince. Harry finds himself face to face with pure evil, a disturbed man with unfixable traces of vileness. “Watch your mouth, Styles.” The Sheriff whispers, so closely that it sounds like a scream. “You have no idea what I went through. What <em>Louis</em> made me go through.”</p>
<p>“How come Louis has anything to do with this?” Harry asks, speaking through the tight grip on his mandible.</p>
<p>Stan releases him, pushing him back against the concrete. “Louis is the reason behind all this, can’t you see? I grew up with the bastard, and I watched <em>her</em> grow up, too. Lottie, she,” He pauses, swallows. “Lottie, she was beautiful. She really was. And she was the opposite of her brother, the fucker. She was kind, always smiling, always so friendly, and,”</p>
<p>Harry looks up through his blood stained hair, finding Stan’s gaze traveling the floor, searching for his words. “Louis had to ruin everything. He forbidden me to try to get close to his little sister. Said I was too old for her, that I wasn’t worthy of her. He thought I was playing around, that it was just a stupid crush. He <em>always</em> thought I wasn’t being serious. Even when we got into fist fights because of it, he thought I was being an ass just for the hell of it. He never listened, never cared. When I realized she never did either, that’s when I lost it.”</p>
<p>Harry tries to make sense of the situation, amid the pain, the throbbing of his injuries, the tightness of the restraints around his wrists. He proceeds to listen;</p>
<p>“One night, I tried to talk to her. I knew where she worked, so I went and followed her after her shift. She wouldn’t talk to me, she didn’t smile, not this time. I got angry. I loved her and wanted to make her happy, and she wouldn’t give me a chance. I can’t remember the beginning of it. I just know I was trying to approach her, then she pushed me, and next thing I know I’m on top of her and there’s blood everywhere. Not in her face, though. She was too perfect, too pretty.”</p>
<p>Harry’s fear rises up his throat, aching, burning. “You stalked her and took advantage of your friendship with Louis to get close to her. You didn’t love her. You were just obsessed.” Harry says, muttering between bruised lips.</p>
<p>The words light a fire in Stan’s eyes. “Shut the <em>fuck</em> up.” He hisses as he takes another strike at Harry, aiming for his already damaged face.</p>
<p>Harry can barely feel it, doesn’t realize how many blows he takes, until the pain moves lower, and Stan starts kicking his boots into his legs, his thighs, his exposed abdomen. With his arms tied back, Harry can barely protect his side, and he takes the abuse as he curls up on the ground, waiting, breathing in shudders against the agonizing pain.</p>
<p>When the Sheriff stops, it takes him a moment to realize he’s speaking again. “Even after Lottie died, I had to mold the rest of my life after her. Becoming a police officer, watching cases from up close, planning everything to be a few steps ahead. When I got to be a sheriff, I really thought, no one would ever know. The case was cold, the clues were in <em>my</em> station, and I could do anything to it.”</p>
<p>There’s a silence, and Harry can’t stand it. In the lack of noise, he can hear the echoes of his shallow breathing, the beat of his heart on his ear. “Why did you kill the other girls, Stan?” He questions, barely hearing himself.</p>
<p>“Oh, you wouldn’t understand.” Stan chuckles, cracking his fingers. There’s blood on his knuckles; <em>Harry’s</em> blood. “When Claire’s parents reported her missing, I went after her, and found her driving out of that gas station in the South Road. I pulled her over, and when she opened her window to talk to me, I was struck with the same feelings from years ago. Claire was as beautiful as Lottie, and I couldn’t control myself. I didn’t want to, anymore. Then, there was Amber. She was just a consequence. I wanted to see the pain in Louis’ eyes when he realized he couldn’t do anything to stop the mysterious killer. The killer that murdered his sister, too.”</p>
<p>Harry coughs, blood pouring out of his cut-up lips. His muscles ache so badly he doesn’t think he could crawl his way out, this time. Stan continues to talk through Harry’s agony;</p>
<p>“Celeste was the hardest one. I didn’t plan it quite well, to be honest. When those friends of Louis managed to get their way inside <em>my</em> station, I knew I was going to be questioned, at some point. I had to find someone to put the blame on, and Daniel was the perfect fit, as you can imagine why. I got Celeste, drove her to Daniel’s property and killed her right there, just to end it quickly.” He tells, without a single trance of remorse or guilt in his tone. “Also, Daniel is dead. I killed him a bit before I killed Celeste. Won’t tell you where his body is, though. He’s supposed to be on the run. That’s one fugitive they’ll never find.”</p>
<p>“You’re a monster.” Harry whispers against the ground.</p>
<p>“What was that?” Stan says, an evil grin taking over his face.</p>
<p>Harry manages to sit up again, ignoring the excruciating aching of his muscles, from the bruises that are starting to form. Another drip of blood falls down his neck, warm, crimson like his rage. “I <em>said</em>, you’re a monster.” He hisses.</p>
<p>This time, Stan takes out a knife.</p>
<p>It’s small like a dagger, but the blade shines against the faint sunlight that invades the ruins through its cracks. Harry’s heartbeat picks up, and he flinches while Stan approaches mercilessly. When the blade is pressed against his clothed chest, Harry closes his eyes shut and waits.</p>
<p>The pain that comes his way is almost unbearable. Stan pushes the blade in, barely an inch into his skin, and drags it across his sternum. Harry feels as if his heart, his lungs, his bones are burning; there’s fire around him, and it doesn’t stop tearing his flesh, turning him to ash.</p>
<p>“Stop! Stop!” Harry screams, regretting immediately as he does so. Every breath he takes hurts, contracts his chest, and moves against the knife. Stan pulls the knife away and steps back, looking at the angry red color taking over Harry’s clothes, a prideful glance on his eyes.</p>
<p>“Do you wanna know something, Styles?” He mutters. “Louis knows me well, but not as well as I know him. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, ever since you stepped foot in that station. He’s infatuated by you. And just like he took Lottie from me, I’ll take you from him.”</p>
<p>“Stan, stop, no,” Harry pleads, but it’s like yelling into a black hole. The void swallows it. The woods always swallow everything around it.</p>
<p>“Messing with you two was fun.” He smiles, twisting the small knife in his hold, watching as the fresh blood dances through the shiny blade. “Watching you both go mad over that bag on the tree, seeing Louis so frantic and desperate for answers, when I had it all. But it’s over, now. Before I went and knocked you out, I left a note in Louis’ car. If he really cares about you, he’ll be here soon, <em>alone</em>.” Stan says, his tone almost excited.</p>
<p>Harry continues to wince against his restraints and fights the urge to look down at the damage left in his chest. He doesn’t want to see his blood, his mutilated skin. He doesn’t want Louis to be there, not even through a reverie of his own mind, or a hallucination. However, if what Stan is saying is true, he’s certain Louis <em>will</em> be there.</p>
<p>“I’ll make him watch you turn into a dead thing, and then I’ll end him too, right next to you. Can you imagine the headlines on the paper? A detective killing another over a case. A murder-suicide, a classic.” The Sheriff tells. “You know what the best part is? I’ll be the one to collect the evidence, to write the reports and to sign your death certificate. You’ll be nothing but a name on a paper, another poor soul stuck forever in this cursed <em>fucking</em> town. Maybe there will be more in the future, but you’ll never know.”</p>
<p>Harry looks up, and although his pain is raw and evident, everything under his skin goes numb once his anger settles in; “You’re not going to win this.” He promises.</p>
<p>Once again, the woods swallow his voice. Stan smiles, unforgiving, cold, and murderous. “Styles, I’ve already won.”</p>
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<p>Harry is alone.</p>
<p>The wrecks around him witness his pitiful attempts of getting up, his agonizing crawls that don’t go much further than a few feet. He’s desperately frightened, and yet, the pain and the silence numb his mind. He can’t think much, can’t tell how much time goes by as he leans against the concrete ruins.</p>
<p>Stan has dissipated into thin air, leaving Harry to his own devises. Somehow, he feels even more terrified now, that he can’t see Stan, can’t spot the enemy. He might be anywhere, circling him like a prey, for all he knows.</p>
<p>However, he isn’t alone for too long.</p>
<p>In the echoes of the woods and his own whimpers of pain, Harry hears a distant voice, a high pitched tone that breaks through the darkness in his mind like a lighting in a storm.</p>
<p>Louis’ shouts rip across the abandoned building. A lighthouse in a sea. “Harry!” He calls, and it keeps coming, approaching every second. Harry feels his presence before he sees it. Haz!” He cries, footsteps resonating closer and closer, until Harry can feel safe enough to open his eyes.</p>
<p>Louis’s figure is so small compared to the greatness of the ruins around them. But still, all Harry can see is blue. “Lou,” He whispers, wincing after Louis kneels in front of him and takes his face into his gentle hands. Always gentle.</p>
<p>“Harry, oh my <em>God</em>,” Louis says, his gaze running through the injuries across Harry’s features. Harry can see the crimson color that stains Louis’ hands, can see that Louis had kneeled over a pool of his own blood. “You’re going to be okay, I promise, I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” Louis assures, his tone rushed, urgent.</p>
<p>“Lou,” Harry manages to whimper out, bringing up his hand to grasp at Louis’ sleeve. “Get away from here, he’s going to hurt you,” He tells.</p>
<p>Louis’ eyes are coated in the purest form of concern Harry has ever seen. He can almost forget about the pain, about the slashes that scatter his skin. “I’m not leaving without you.” Louis states, and his gaze drives down to Harry’s torso. “Hazza, your chest,” He says under his breath.</p>
<p>Slowly, he peels back a piece of Harry’s shirt, watching his reactions closely, attentively. “You have to go to the hospital, come on,” He expresses, tries to pull Harry by his arms, tenderly despite the desperation in his voice.</p>
<p>“Can’t,” Harry murmurs. “Please, go.” He tries to warn, but it’s too late.</p>
<p>From the shadows of the ruins, Stan appears again. He’s grinning, and from the distance Harry can see the glint of the handgun in his grip. The sight makes his heartbeat spike, and he’s alert. “Lou, behind you,” He whispers, and Louis turns around.</p>
<p>When their eyes meet, Harry is certain he can see a fire alight. There’s so much anger in Louis’ eyes, pure ire that he’s never seen, taking over the detective. Stan is calm, despite his threatening position, and approaches with little rush.</p>
<p>“Step away from him, Louis.” Stan orders, voice firm, and points his weapon to Louis. Harry’s chest ache and burns as he hyperventilates, watching the barrel of the gun point so confidently at Louis.</p>
<p>“Stan,” Louis says, almost painfully, as he moves aside with his hands up. “Don’t you dare hurt him again. It’s over.” He warns, but Stan only chuckles as he continues to get closer.</p>
<p>“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s over for you both. I’m just getting started.” He tells, evil in his tongue. The hand that holds the gun stills as he pulls something else from his belt. Handcuffs. “Hands behind your back.” He commands.</p>
<p>Louis doesn’t tremble, but he glances down at Harry for a second. Harry can feel it, the sudden warmth of his gaze, filled with worry. “Stan, please,” He tries to plead.</p>
<p>“Now, Tomlinson.” The Sheriff orders and points the barrel at Harry’s figure on the ground. Louis’ features fill with urgency and desperation. “Or else your boy gets a bullet to the head.”</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Louis nods, going pliant under Stan’s orders. He places his hand behind his back, turning around as Stan approaches, and Harry closes his eyes. All he can hear is the clinks of the handcuffs being locked around Louis wrists.</p>
<p>Stan pushes Louis to the ground too, who falls with a thump, and shifts quickly to watch attentively everything that happens. The second the Sheriff turns around towards Harry, Louis protests without hesitation. “No, no, Stan!” He yells. “Don’t hurt him anymore, please,” He pleads.</p>
<p>There’s only a malicious breathy chuckle that fills the atmosphere. “Or what, Tomlinson? What are you going to do? Order me around like you did when we were kids? Are you going to protect him from me, like you did with your sister?” Stan yells back at Louis. Harry shoots his eyes open, and almost wishes he didn’t. He watches Louis expression fill with guilt, with something that looks like bitter remorse. He can recognize the way Louis’ brain clicks in place, and how he finally comes to realization of the situation. “No, Louis. You started all of this, might as well watch me finish it.” Stan says in an ultimatum.</p>
<p>He kneels before Harry’s frame, and pulls out the knife again. Harry flinches at the sight, and kicks against his attacker, to no avail. Stan pins Harry’s legs on the ground and places the tip of the blade under his chin.</p>
<p>“Stop! Harry! No, no, no,” Louis shouts desperately. “Stan, please, what happened to you? I can’t recognize you,” He cries. Harry can’t look aside to watch Louis’ tears fall. He’s trapped underneath Stan’s gaze, once again, and it steals any twinge of optimism he might have had.</p>
<p>“It’s always been like this; you just chose to ignore it.” The Sheriff says, dangerously low. He takes the knife away from Harry’s skin, leaving only a small nick tucked under his chin. “You were chasing <em>me </em>for your entire life. I killed Lottie, and I would’ve killed more if it meant I’d get to see you in pain.”</p>
<p>Harry glances up, fighting his fright. Stan is glaring at Louis like a prey, but mostly, he’s consuming the sight of his state. He’s desperate, he looks scared, concerned and alert. Louis almost appears <em>lost</em>, and hopeless. It’s exactly what Stan wanted. Perhaps, in the end, he really did win.</p>
<p>“But this is worth everything. You like him, don’t you? Well, look at him now.” Stan hisses, pointing the knife down at Harry. Louis’ eyes follow, painfully. “He’s destroyed. Like everything else you touch; you ruined him. You ruined <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>Harry allows himself to feel safe, just for a second, when his eyes meet Louis’. It’s a shared look of comfort, barely, but it’s there somewhere, maybe under all the cuts and the blood. Harry’s heart slows, and he can breathe normally. Everything looks blue, peaceful, and gentle. Gentle like Louis.</p>
<p>“This is between you and me, isn’t it?”  Louis says to Stan, confidently, his anger rushing back to his features. “Leave Harry out of this.”</p>
<p>“No.” Stan asserts. He paces towards Louis and bends down to look at him in the eye. Harry watches with a breath caught in his throat, tangled in the bitter taste of blood and defeat. “I can’t let any of you live, you both know too much now. I ain’t sloppy.” He whispers, breathing across Louis’ angered face.</p>
<p>Then, everything happens too quickly.</p>
<p>Harry can barely follow the sudden rush of movement. The sound of a handcuff key clicks against the ground, and Louis is free from his restraints. His hands fly to Stan’s wrists, and the knife falls from his grip. The Sheriff tries to fight back immediately, but he’s caught up in his character, and can barely catch the closed fist that meets his face.</p>
<p>Stan hits the floor quick, holding his nose. “You <em>fucking</em> prick,” He curses as blood start to pour between his digits. Louis immediately kicks him in the stomach, making Stan curl up to protect himself.</p>
<p>“It’s over, Stan. Stop.” Louis tries to warn him, but as soon as Stan tries to get up again, another hit meets his frame. Louis punches him in the jaw, and when his head meets the floor again, Louis moves quickly to kneel beside Harry. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” He whispers.</p>
<p>Harry lets himself be helped up, and then he’s standing, glancing nervously at Stan’s figure on the ground. Louis catches his hesitation. “Don’t worry, love.” He smiles, and then hope arrives.</p>
<p>It arrives through the sounds of sirens, blue and red lights that flicker faintly through the cracks in the abandoned building. Only then does Harry realize the night has started to eat away the light.</p>
<p>Stan glances up, blood covering around his now crooked nose. “What’s this?” He mumbles, his face filling with fright. Harry finds the sight satisfying. “Tomlinson!” He yells when the sirens start getting louder, echoing inside the place.</p>
<p>“Didn’t think I’d bring backup?” Louis shouts, holding Harry against his body. “And to think you were my best friend, Stan.” He says, and rushes towards the exit.</p>
<p>Harry can hear people talking outside, can hear the sounds of life coming back to him. He’s almost smiling too, in relief, for a moment.</p>
<p>However, it dissipates quicker than it arrived.</p>
<p>The sound of a gunshot rips the atmosphere. The woods swallow the echoes of it, just as Harry falls to the ground, along with Louis.</p>
<p>“Fuck, <em>fuck</em>,” Louis groans, trying to hold Harry up but failing. Harry glances down, and there’s blood quickly spreading through Louis’ pants, on the side of his thigh. Looking back, the Sheriff approaches with his handgun pointed, his expression vile. He shot Louis.</p>
<p>Before he can react, Harry feels a strong grip tug him upwards like a puppet in a string. He hears the weapon hit the floor, and then a knife is pressed up his throat.</p>
<p>“I might be over, but I ain’t going down without taking him.” Stan mutters. “You took too much from me, Louis.”</p>
<p>“He has nothing to do with it.” Louis whimpers from the ground. “Please, I’m begging you,” He pleads, eyes covered in tears as blood continues to stain the floor beneath him. Harry holds onto Stan’s forearm, fighting to keep the blade away from his neck, but he knows he won’t be able to fight for long.</p>
<p>Through his blurry vision, Harry watches as cops start to pour inside the place. Flashlights lit the ruins, exposing all its secrets and tragedies, and in the middle of the half circle the police creates, stands Liam with a gun of his own. Zayn appears behind him shortly after, with a weapon as well.</p>
<p>“Drop the knife, Sheriff!” Liam commands, his voice roaring across the space.</p>
<p>Harry sees light everywhere, from the flashlights, to the moon that peeks the scene, to the glistening tears in Louis’ eyes. <em>Louis</em>. He can’t take his gaze away, and it hurts. Everything hurts, all around him, his limbs, and his heart, but he can’t look anywhere else.</p>
<p>Louis’ eyes are comforting, although he looks scared. That’s where Harry fixates his eyes on, before he hears Stan’s mumble against his shoulder.</p>
<p>“It’s over.” The Sheriff says, fear coating the evil in his tongue. Harry feels the blade going through his lower back, the pain burning his nerves, stealing his senses. He whimpers, falling backwards against Stan.</p>
<p>“No!” Louis screams, and it bounces through the walls, breaks the cold air of the fresh night.</p>
<p>In seconds, there’s gunshots resonating from everywhere, and Harry can’t feel a thing beside the hard ground that holds his frame, and the fire in his lower back. He gasps for air, can’t see anymore light, until Louis’ face appears above him.</p>
<p>“Harry, can you hear me? Love, please,” He says, tears falling on Harry’s chest, as if trying to wash the pain away. He holds Harry in his arms, a hand cradling his face. Always so gentle.</p>
<p>“Louis, I,” He whispers, coughs on his own tongue. He feels like he’s drowning from the inside. “I’m not gonna make it,” He murmurs, losing his voice somewhere in the pools of blood.</p>
<p>“Hey, none of that, don’t you dare. Keep your eyes open, love,” Louis cries, holding him close.</p>
<p>Amid all the cuts and bruises, Harry shoots Louis a grin, so genuine that it heals his injuries, for a second. “Stay,” He pleads, afraid to lose sight of Louis.</p>
<p>“Won’t go without you.” Louis reassures. “You’re my person, remember? I can’t lose you.”</p>
<p>Flashlights flicker the edge of his face. He’s beautiful, and he’s all Harry wants to see. The blue, eternal, angelic, peaceful like a summer’s sky. It’s the blue that saves Harry, before darkness takes over.</p>
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<p>He knows he’s alive when there’s a rhythmic beep resonating from somewhere. It’s constant, unstoppable.</p>
<p>When Harry opens his eyes, there’s too much light, too little blue. From a window, he can recognize the sky, and where he is. Moving his fingers, he feels soft fabric underneath him. The bandages around his torso are constricting, and he almost panics for a moment, frightened by the feeling of being trapped.</p>
<p>Realization only make its way to his brain when he glances at his feet, on the edge of the hospital mattress. In the blurriness of his vision, he struggles to recognize the figure.</p>
<p>“Harry,” He hears the distant voice. It’s deep, careful, worried. “Hey, can you hear me, mate?” It’s Liam, now stretched across his frame, glancing down at his fluttering eyelids.</p>
<p>“Liam,” He calls, testing his voice. His throat hurts, and his lips feel too thick and painful.</p>
<p>“I’m here, lad, hold on just a minute, alright?” He mumbles, and the sound of the door opening and closing reverberates around his head, pounding like a headache. He’s alone again, but not for long. When the noise returns, it’s repeated thud echoes in the small room, and before Harry can find the source of it, it comes to a stop right next to him.</p>
<p>He opens his eyes fully, feeling the muscles of his face strain and twitch. It’s Louis, holding onto a crutch as he stands, one hand raising to gently stroke over Harry’s knuckles.</p>
<p>Always gentle.</p>
<p>“Lou,” Harry mumbles, softly, taking notice of the crutch and the hint of a bandage wrapped around Louis’ thigh. “What, how,” He tries to say, to pour his thoughts out of his head.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling, love?” Louis asks, quietly.</p>
<p>Harry shrugs against the thick mattress, and winces at the pain that rises from his sternum. He looks down briefly, finds himself wrapped in bandages. “I-I don’t know,” He stutters. “What happened? After,”</p>
<p>Louis’ eyes drop to his stomach, saddened by the memories. “Stan stabbed you.” He tells.</p>
<p>Harry’s mind clicks, fear settling in the place of doubt. “Is, is he-“</p>
<p>“He’s dead.” Louis states, voice thick from something that sounds like anguish. However, he sighs, almost relieved. “They shot him before you collapsed. It wasn’t a fatal shot, but he didn’t survive.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Harry mumbles, letting his head fall against the pillow. His curls scatter around his head, long and tangled. Louis runs his fingers through them. “He shot you, didn’t he?” The investigator asks, concerned.</p>
<p>“It just grazed me.” Louis grins shyly, in attempts to reassure Harry. Then, his expression falls into an upset frown. “<em>God</em>, Hazza, I wish I had seen it coming.” He sighs. “I’m so sorry,”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Harry chuckles, ignoring the pain in his chest. “Don’t apologize, please. Just,” He mumbles, taking a hold of Louis’ hand. Their fingers intertwine instantly, almost automatically, already used to the fitting of their hands. “We survived. That’s what matters.” He assures.</p>
<p>“We did.” He agrees, choked up. “It’s just, when they took you in, I was <em>terrified</em> of losing you. I never want to feel like that again.” He confesses, letting his heart exposed.</p>
<p>“I’m not going anywhere.” Harry promises. “Everything will be alright, yeah?” He smiles.</p>
<p>Louis smiles, a bit of hurt lingering his features, but he still does, and it’s as bright as the sun.</p>
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  <em>Everything will be alright.</em>
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<p>
  <em>Claire Denholm, Amber Paxton, Celeste Addams. </em>
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<p>Names once printed in investigation files and reports, now are carved into untouchable, strong gravestones.</p>
<p>The rain has returned a few days after Harry is allowed to leave the hospital, and it washes the town of all its sins and hauntings. The graveyard is coated in a layer of dew and cold rain, mist fluttering before the tombstones, but it doesn’t bring chills to Harry anymore.</p>
<p>He breathes deeply, glancing down at the gravestones, pacing between the eternal resting places of all the girls he couldn’t save. He drops a couple roses above them, hoping that the bright petals will at least remind him that it’s all over. He spots Louis’ figure in the distance, amid the fog. He approaches, silently, and takes him by the hand when he stands beside him.</p>
<p>Following where Louis’ saddened eyes are pointed, he reads over the name. <em>Charlotte Tomlinson.</em></p>
<p>“She would like you, y’know,” Louis whispers, his voice strained. “She really would.”</p>
<p>Harry can only grin sympathetically, and let a few tears gather in his eyes. He kneels and places the rest of the roses beside her gravestone. The deep crimson decorates the grey stone, mixing with the color of the earth, of the cloudy day and the blue in Louis’ orbs.</p>
<p>They stay there for a while, until Louis tugs on Harry’s hand, and looks up. “Let’s go,” He mutters, pressing a kiss to the side of Harry’s mouth. “Let’s get out of this town.”</p>
<p>Harry has never been more eager to comply. In the car, he winces as he sits on the passenger side, although Louis helps him through all the movement. The stitches in his back and chest are still sore, after all.</p>
<p>When the engines go alive under them, Louis turns his head to glance at Harry. In the silence, they both can feel the tangible questions lingering the atmosphere. Louis catches the first one; “Where to?” He asks.</p>
<p>Harry breathes, deeply. “Wherever you want to.”</p>
<p>There’s a pause. Harry glances aside to find Louis smiling. “I mean, I’ve never been to London, and I think you could use a bit of help to take care of those stitches.” He says, his expression growing brighter.</p>
<p>Harry chuckles, unbothered by the bruises on his face, or the ache in his sternum. “To London, then.”</p>
<p>Louis drives away with a smile.</p>
<p>They exit the town through the South Road, and Harry keeps his eyes open. Amid the tall trees, all the memories, there’s hope. A new beginning, a fresh start to the city, without any more evil loose in its streets, hiding behind a badge and feign kindness.</p>
<p>Harry doesn’t shiver at the sight of the woods; not this time. It reminds him that he found love. He looks towards Louis, smiling still. It reminds him that he’s got all that he needs right there, in front of him.</p>
<p>When darkness strikes, he knows he can use Louis’ brightness for guidance. He watches quietly as they cross the town’s limits. The sunlight gleams behind the clouds, warm, ardent, and youthful.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Epilogue - One Day, I Am Gonna Grow Wings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes an entire month for Harry’s injuries to heal completely. In the comfortable weather of June, London is a mixture of cloudy and sunny days, and eventual drizzle that coats the big city’s streets lightly.</p><p>Louis’ presence in Harry’s apartment is still surreal; watching him hop in between rooms, pacing into the kitchen, and bringing him tea at random times during the day. Waking up beside Louis feels like the first sunray that bleeds into the room. Warm, and it makes Harry want to stay in bed for as much as he manages. Which, giving his straining injuries, is a lot of time. Louis is insistent with taking care of his wounds and doesn’t skip any steps during the long scarring process.</p><p>When the cuts eventually turn into pinkish, thick scars, there’s the lingering questions in the atmosphere again. Louis jokes about losing his excuse to stay with Harry, and Harry always says that he doesn’t need an excuse. It could be <em>his</em> home, too.</p><p>“Love?” Louis sweetly calls across the kitchen. Harry looks up from the counter’s surface, distracted. “You alright?” He questions to the frown in Harry’s face.</p><p>“Yeah, just thinking about how I’ll have to go back to work soon.” He replies with a small grin, sipping his tea. It’s sweeter than he’s used to making, since Louis’ high sugar consumption has taken over his routine. He would never complain, though.</p><p>Louis nods, leaning against the oven, his shirtless torso calling out for Harry’s eyes. <em>Distracting</em>. “Oh, yeah, me too,” The detective frowns. “I don’t even want to think about it, to be honest. My boss is going to ask <em>too</em> many bloody questions,” He mumbles.</p><p>The negative side of everything doesn’t escape their lives. Some days are harder than others, some nights Harry can’t sleep, and Louis has nightmares so horrible that it makes him shake.</p><p>The concept of PTSD didn’t come around until a few weeks after they had arrived in London, and Harry couldn’t seem to stop sweating and hyperventilating whenever he looked at his own chest. They don’t talk about Stan often. Harry doesn’t even like to think about Daniel, or where his body may be. That secret died with Stan. In fact, Harry is certain that the woods must swallowed him, too.</p><p>It feels as if years had been compacted into that one month. So many steps had been taken and everything has changed, unquestioningly. The only thing that didn’t change was Louis’ presence, his support and patience. For that, Harry is eternally grateful.</p><p>“I could go with you,” Harry says, the quiet apartment cradling his tired voice. “To Manchester, I mean.”</p><p>Louis’ smile is beaming, completing the morning sight. He approaches Harry, circling around the counter, and embraces him from behind. “I’d love that. But what about your job?” He questions, breathing into Harry’s shoulder blades. His fingertips quickly find their way to the scar on his lower back, caressing it as if it could go away.</p><p>“We’ll figure it out.” Harry responds, turning to kiss him. “Everything will be alright, isn’t that what you always say?”</p><p>“Yeah, it is.” Louis nods, their noses bumping, and smiles against his lips.</p><p>Then, there’s silence.</p><p>It’s something else that they easily learn to deal with; the quiet, the lack of noise that won’t be filled by talking about a case or throwing questions at the investigation. Harry used to dread the silence, before Louis. Now, is in the quietness that he can visualize the trueness of his feelings flooding through his blue eyes.</p><p>He can <em>see</em> the words before he hears them.</p><p>“Haz,” Louis calls, always gently, his face cradled in Harry’s palms. “I’m in love with you, do you know that?” He whispers. “I do, I really do. I love you.” Louis repeats, as if the words taste so sweet that he wants to speak them over and over again.</p><p>Harry’s chest tightens, strains with emotion, in the best way possible. “I know. And I do too. Love you.” He mumbles, his tone resonating smoothly in the space between their lips. They kiss, passionately, hearts thundering in their ribcages, audible enough for London to hear.</p><p>Whatever concerns the future may hold, Harry ignores it for a moment. In the present, he embraces <em>his</em> person, loves him, and refuses to forget that everything will be alright, as long as he’s by his side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey!<br/>So, I've decided to post the rest of this fic entirely, as a New Years gift and also because the MV for TPWK just got released and I'm feeling good!<br/>Thank you so, so much for everyone that read it, gave me support, commented and offered feedbacks. It motivates me a lot. Investigator Harry Styles and Detective Louis Tomlinson will both always be in my heart!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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